


The Derbyshire Avenger

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Adventure, Alter Egos, F/M, Family, Friendship, Marriage by Compromise, Romance, Vigilante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: Active, outdoorsy, and impertinent, Elizabeth Bennet has gotten into her worst scrape yet. How will she deal with her sudden marriage to the impassive Mr. Darcy? Who is that black shadow peeking through her window at night, and since when has Lady Catherine become part of the deal? An AU dramedy set in gorgeous Derbyshire - a place that I will always dream of visiting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts off at a dark place, but things gradually look up from there - and gets almost comedic at some points. The narrative is inspired by one of my favorite period comedies from Hong Kong, and rewriting it in a Regency context is one of the strangest, most unexpected writing experiences I've ever had. Please keep your mind open for the weirdness of it all. I hope you'll enjoy this!

"You must understand, Fitzwilliam, that refusing to remarry is tantamount to bringing disgrace upon your family - to  _both_  families. You owe it to Anne, both your mother, and my child, to provide a rightful heir."

Lady Catherine waved her arm above the contents of the table, as if a priest bestowing blessing, before reaching for her cup. The subsequent sip was, as with everything she did, resplendent in deliberation and flair.

God knew how she stayed so -  _august_ , despite the bare nibbles she consumed each meal.

Darcy cleared his throat, under his breath, anxious to respect the wary peace he had with his late wife's mother this morning. His tasks had kept him awake late into the night the previous evening, and it had taken great effort to wake himself in a timely manner today.

"If Georgiana still lived, your preferences may still be forgiven," the large woman droned on. The grandiose spreads she demanded at breakfast each morning seemed to exist solely for her viewing pleasure. She always did talk  _to_  the food instead of ingesting them. "In light of her untimely demise, however, it is your  _sworn duty_  to provide Pemberley the heir it so deserves."

Darcy bit quietly into his bread.

"Since my arrival, we have done plenty to improve the quality of the grounds." Lady Catherine gestured generously towards the garish decor and the nearly unrecognizable view out the window. His mother surely turned in her grave. "It would be a pity to have it all go to your ghastly French cousin."

Darcy grimaced. The conversation seldom varied in his humbled, haunted home these days. Every day, Lady Catherine would lament that her sister, her niece, and her daughter had all been taken from them all too soon. Every day, the lady bemoaned how much better it would have been if Anne's child had lived. At times, Darcy found it in himself to remind his aunt that the child had been sickly - born two full months too soon. It had been unlikely, even then, that she would have grown into adulthood and in good enough health to bear  _her_ own heir one day.

Today was not one of those days.

Those days happened only when he felt too trapped, too restless - so spiritless than an argumentative aunt was better than having no company at all.

"Anne has been gone but two months, Fitzwilliam." It was a wonder how she managed to make every statement reverberate like a command. "Take any girl now - a comely servant would do - and claim her child as Anne's. It would not be too difficult."

Darcy tossed his fork aside and stood, the room having grown suffocating sooner than it was wont to be.

"Fitzwilliam - "

"I choose my life, Aunt Catherine." He looked solemnly at her plate, avoiding her piercing stare. "I have lost one wife and one child. I do not need to loose another pair more."

"And what of Pemberley? Shall it truly descend into the hands of a hungry Frenchman?"

Darcy sighed. It never bothered him who was set to inherit Pemberley after him. Life itself meant very little after he buried his sister, wife, and child within a year.

He had married Anne when he did because she had simply been  _there_. He needed an heir, and a wife, and Anne had been so willing and unobtrusive a candidate. He let himself be swayed by duty then - with disastrous results.

The most disastrous of those disasters - save the loss of actual life - was how the marriage had brought with it the permanent presence of Lady Catherine in Pemberley.

The latter fact alone made the entire situation a horrid choice.

Knowing the family tomb now held three more bodies than it should at so young a chapter of this master's life grieved his soul.

It shocked him, every day, that Lady Catherine remained so unaffected and spoke so nonchalantly of his finding another woman to warm his bed.

Anne herself, sickly and frail, barely ever warmed anything. It was both divinely appointed and laughably ironic that she had managed to become with child over the course of their half dozen haphazard unions through those first six months of marriage. He had stopped visiting her after then - realizing, with little regret, that their communal presence brought little joy to each other.

"It does not matter to me who inherits Pemberley when I am gone," he said, in perfect honesty.

Lady Catherine, of course,  _fumed._

"My daughter gave her  _life_  to the cause of our families! Shall she be so disrespected for her ultimate sacrifice?"

"Aunt Catherine - "

"Mr. Crane!" She bellowed, summoning the weaselly, withering rat of a steward to full attention. "I feel faint."

She did not  _look_  faint, by any measure. Perhaps Darcy would have felt happier if she did.

"Rest well, aunt," he said, accustomed to their farce.

She stalked out of the room on Mr. Crane's oily arm, parading away with head held as high as a peacock's feather towards the sprawling chambers she had claimed as her own the very day her trunks had arrived at Pemberley.

Darcy, newly deserted, sat down for a meal in truth.

* * *

"Is it horrid of me, Beryl?"

He stroke his terrier by its soft, silky coat. She nuzzled closer, as it had always been in her nature to.

Since Georgiana's death - and Wickham's subsequent hanging - since Anne and Ellie and every other person dear to his heart had been taken by death or by war - he had come to realize that there was only one sort of confidante he could ever manage to maintain.

As long as Lady Catherine remained ostentatiously installed in Pemberley - he could only ever be truly friends with creatures who could not talk.

"Would Ellie have wanted her father to continue thus?" Darcy mused upon the daughter he'd known only for three full days. He had never stayed involved in Anne's pregnancy. He'd been in want of an heir; she'd striven to provide it to him. She'd brought to the marriage a willing, if weak, womb - and he, painfully, had been required to allow her and her mother and her mother's minions into his hearth and home.

They had been married but two months when he'd found the cost too dear - and dove further into his alternate vocation.

Beryl barked gently, a true compatriot.

At least with his wordless friend, he found a constant source of love and support.

The sun was nearly fully beneath the horizon, and Darcy stretched his body in preparation for what was to come.

As a child, he'd only been given a hint of his grandfather's nightly activities when a game of sardines had him stumbling upon the strange, black trappings hidden in a trunk beneath the bed. Father, when his health permitted, had taken up Grandfather's mantle upon the latter's death.

It had been a natural choice for Darcy himself to continue their mission.

He'd strayed at times, he was loathe to admit. Cambridge and its colors had laid temporal rest to his interest in Father's training. The grief of Father's passing had arrested him for multiple moons before it spurred him towards, and not away, from George Darcy's legacy. It had taken great effort, even sacrifice, to regain the tricks and steps and balance this unlikely role required.

Grandfather had mentioned, long ago, that he had learnt his unique talents from a traveling Chinese wizard.

What had sounded wondrous as a child, turned fantastical in adulthood, and then turned inexplicably plausible in the present.

How else could Grandfather have learned to be so light-footed so as to fly from tree to tree? How else could he have gained the skills he had with a plain walking stick - or the strange maneuvers he would use upon a sword? Grandfather, then Father, then Fitzwilliam himself - would never have thought to toss their forks as weapons - pinning the smallest and thinnest pieces of fabric against a tree as needed.

Only the wizards of the East would have thought of functions as strange as that.

The farm noises lulled eventually, heralding the beginning of the summer eve.

Darcy stepped away from his pose by the window, Beryl on his heels, and began with careful precision the task of trading his gentlemanly garb for his active one - dark coat, long sleeves, fitted trousers, and a thick, tight waistband with which to attach them all. He pulled his hair back, as tradition dictated, and wrapped a strip of fabric around the collection of strands to keep his locks in place. He pulled on his boots - newly polished - atop the edges of his black pantaloons. He reached for his last article - his long, hooded cloak - to complete his ensemble.

He was a lucky man to have found a tailoring and valeting staff as quietly trustworthy as his furry friend.

Beryl barked softly by his feet, aware of what was to come.

"Shall you entertain yourself while I toil way?" He rubbed his spirited friend once more by its pretty coat, glimmering despite the fast-growing darkness.

She barked back, a kindly little lass.

Darcy smiled, and pulled his grandfather's mask down against his eyes. The weighted legacy of the small, metal visor never truly faded - however many times Darcy underwent his own grooming routine.

"Let us see which young widow and her sons need help tonight, shall we?" He spoke to Beryl one last time before launching himself off the floor and onto the small platform his father had built against the windows. He made quick work of the familiar contraption and flung the panel open. "Sleep, friend. I shall see you in the morning."

And the Derbyshire Avenger was off into the night.

* * *

It had been the quieter sort of night, and Darcy found himself back in the stillness of his chambers mere hours after he'd left them. The candles had been easy to deliver, with the two needy homes leaving their entrances wholly unguarded. One careless step had him nearly alerting a neighbor's watchdog - but a stray strip of meat, well-aimed, had freed him of discovery quickly enough.

He fell asleep, Beryl on the floor beside him, content with his small acts of kindness.

Whatever Lady Catherine refused to yield from Pemberley's coffers - at least, not without three weeks of incessant nagging - Darcy found rather easy to deliver in the dead of night. Time had trained his soles to be as stealthy and precise as those of a nimble cat - and Lambton grew safer under the Avenger's care than it ever would have under Pemberley's grandiose shadow.

Father would have been proud.

Darcy woke five hours later, at the crack of dawn, and duly stripped himself of his nighttime garb. Beryl still snored softly, a dainty ball of love on the vast ornate rug. It did not take long for Miles to come serve his master - and to prepare him for the breakfast he inevitably shared with Lady Catherine on any day but the Lord's Day.

Semblance of normality must be maintained at all costs.

Darcy shuddered to think how Lady Catherine would interfere if she ever learned of how he was choosing to spent his evenings.

Birthed into rank and married into wealth - the woman would never understand any true causes in favor of the poor.

"Mr. Darcy, shall you take your walk?" Miles inquired, when he had fully dressed his master.

Darcy paused in a moment of thought. While morning meals and nighttime vigilance remained the ever staples of his day - his morning walks tended to be of the more irregular amongst his activities.

On the nights he stumbled back mere minutes before daybreak - injured, or at times, bleeding - the morning walks were the first activities to be neglected. The night he'd saved Miles and his young brother from their murderous attacker had been one for the books.

On still mornings like today, however, the thought of an amble around Pemberley's grounds did sound rather appealing. It helped, of course, that Lady Catherine never deigned to venture outdoors.

"Perhaps for an hour or so," Darcy replied. Miles, ever dutiful, nodded his crown of red hair before reaching for Darcy's walking stick.

Soon, the fresh air filled his lungs with every stride he took. Beryl, awake and active, ran alongside her master - engaged by every flower, butterfly, or bug. At every turn, Darcy attempted a new maneuver - tuning his body to the many variations a simple bend along the path may require. Dedicated practice was tantamount towards maintaining or growing the skills his calling required.

To be called the Derbyshire Avenger had sounded silly at first.

True, he did live in Derbyshire. True, he sought to avenge and protect the poor.

What spurred the villagers to ascribe so pretentious and funny of a name to Grandfather had always been a mystery.

It was a name, however, that bonded Darcy with the generations lost before him - and he now upheld the name as a point of pride, though he still smirked at its utterance each time.

Beryl's sharp, urgent barking prevented him from taking his next turn.

"What is it?" He turned - just in time to behold his pet running towards the lake. The barking was relentless - timed even faster than the speed at which her coat tossed up and down in the morning light.

Darcy followed, surprised at the interruption.

"What is it, Beryl? What have you - "

A fast approach offered him a distant view of what exactly excited his four-legged friend. A young man flailed helplessly in the nearby lake, his head bobbing above and beneath the surface in dangerous intervals.

Darcy shed his coat and dove into the water in immediate rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story is unconventional, but I hope it will be fun to read in the long run!
> 
> In other news, "Armed Robbery" has been removed from this site, and an updated version with a new epilogue is now available for pre-order on the Kindle Store. You all are amazing, and this latest book has been dedicated to you! Thank you so much for making what started as a hobby into such a fulfilling experience.


	2. Chapter 2

Was it truly  _that_ difficult to remember that she had been born a Bennet too?

Elizabeth stomped angrily across the fields, for once unimpressed by Derbyshire's beauty. Her breeches and boots offered plenty of yield, and each long stride brought her just that much closer to chipping away the bulk of her frustration.

When their own Mama had died without a son, it had been considered natural for Papa to remarry – for him to quickly find the next willing womb to yield an heir to Longbourn – and he had promptly fulfilled expectations with a fast betrothal and even faster marriage to the widow Morris. Mama's body and shrieks had been buried but for a year when the news arrived that the new Mrs. Bennet was expecting, perhaps already carrying the long-awaited son.

Jane and her sweetness had won over their new mother for the first few years – though any good graces earned had been rather quickly spent and emptied upon Elizabeth's more tomboyish ways. Still, harmony reigned in Longbourn for the most part, and the two older sisters' sincere affection for their new brother Jules settled themselves well enough in their stepmother's heart.

It was only when Lydia arrived – a ball of fiery beauty and demand – that all attempts at genial coexistence vanished into thin air.

"Jane has not half of Lydia's beauty. Elizabeth, you are a brute!" To this day, an eighteen-year-old Elizabeth remembered each abusive word as freshly as if it had been uttered to her today.

On mornings like this, when the chilly air reminded her so well of both Mama's dying embrace and Julianne Bennet's barbs, Elizabeth took pleasure in purging herself of her anger by donning the most manly clothes she could find in her uncle's warehouse and spitting out the hurtful echoes of the new Mrs. Bennet's underhanded insults to the earth, the wind, and the sky.

"Elizabeth shall ruin life for Lydia, Thomas. Elizabeth ought to be sent away – to the kennel!"

Many rehearsals of late – no doubt fuelled by the recent barrage of requests that Uncle and Aunt Gardiner,  _her_ Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, take  _Lydia_ into their Lambton home instead – had helped Elizabeth perfect her mimicry of her regenerate replacement of a mother.

Jane, bless her heart, had met Mr. Bingley upon her first trip to London – and had found great comfort in that marriage since. Elizabeth – darker and courser and of less refined pursuits – had not been quite as lucky.

"No man could possibly want her, Tom. Who would marry a shrew more manly than he? Her behavior casts shadows on our Lydia."

Elizabeth stopped short at the edge of the lake, belabored breath a direct result of both her physical and mental exertions. Her eyes stung, though her sweat disguised any tears that actually fell.

She had never sought to outshine Jane, and she had never sought to shadow Lydia. Big-boned and lanky, Elizabeth had always known herself to be less preferred for her appearances.

But was it too much for her to hope that someone would at least prefer her for her spirit, or her silliness and strength?

Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, kind and true, had taken her in as soon as it had become clear that her days in Longbourn were numbered. Here in Lambton, at least, she was free to ramble in nature's embrace as long as she fulfilled her tasks at the drapery. Here, the majestic foliage sheltered her when her own father would not. Here, the lakes and rolling mountains distracted her from the troubles of home.

The rising sun sent a large, harsh ray upon her. The warmth heightened the heat already brewing in her chest.

Elizabeth, hands on her hips, deliberated only for a handful of moments before purging herself of her jacket, waistcoat, and boots - and diving into the welcome waters of the misty morning lake.

* * *

"Wait, wait! Here!" Darcy commanded the tumble of arms, legs, and shirtsleeves that struggled against his chest. He maintained an arm around the young man's torso - and fought with his other arm to navigate the two of them back to shore. Beryl, excited to the utmost, barked rapidly in support as she played with the edges of the water herself.

It hadn't been difficult to locate the source of the swimmer's distress. It took Darcy himself several harsh kicks and maneuvers to disentangle the weeds twisted around the boy's ankles. Now, the child - barely a man with his rugged hair and smooth chin - twisted back and forth under Darcy's control, perhaps still having nightmares of weeds that had grown into monsters.

"Beryl," Darcy ordered, and his dutiful assistant put her sharp, able teeth to good use to help her master haul the now-unconscious body on to the grass. "Here."

Beryl, barking the entire eager way, circled Darcy and his unexpected morning ward. The creature was intelligent, and surely understood something of Darcy's evening conquests - but the full participation of a rescue in the light of day seemed to drive the happy pooch to new heights of enthusiasm.

Darcy barely noticed the growing number of curious villagers drawing closer.

His mind, fully occupied by the urgency before him, rushed to recall the Dutch methods he had employed upon a drowning child once. That girl had lived; perhaps this boy could too.

The bustle grew around him as he reached for his coat to cover and warm the shuddering body. He tilted the boy until his head lay lower than his body. The child coughed up water, and Darcy continued his ministrations, encouraged. The boy, his soggy cap still gripping his head securely, seemed to gradually regain awareness.

Darcy called out for a torch or flame, and he heard subsequent scurrying in accordance with his demands. It helped him, sometimes, to operate in full identity. No one dared to aid the dark, brooding avenger - yet everyone longed to participate in Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy's eccentric activities. While waiting for the source of smoke, Darcy breathed into the young man's mouth. Small, staggering breaths began to escape the shivering young man. Darcy persisted, until a full, true breath was drawn.

"Mr. Darcy 'imself, helpin' us."

"God bless the Darcys."

"'Tis a shame about his missus."

The inevitable murmurs began to rise in volume. Darcy heard a sparse word or two, but his focus remained on his current mission.

When impossible to achieve simultaneously, the need to save always won against the need to hide.

Darcy observed the weak, unstable breathing the boy exhibited. He was alive - but uncertainly so.

"Came from the Gardiners, this one."

Darcy frowned - considering, thinking. He wondered how much longer it would take for the needed smoke to come.

Then, he thought of one more trick, one more task left undone.

Darcy lowered his hands and lifted the weight of his coat off the body. The drenched shirt draped the child's frame - a shroud of deadly waters. Darcy took two edges of the fabric, content that the boy's soaked breeches would preserve his modesty - and ripped the fabric of his shirt wholly, efficiently through.

Gasps surrounded him. Darcy searched on for the source of the child's encumbered breathing. There was no reason he should still -

His eyes perused the boy's torso - and found a layer of strange fabric wound around his body. It was nothing like a man's formal dress, nor anything belonging to a child's playful clothes. Even in comparison to his own dark, oriental tunics - this article of clothing felt strange and unrefined.

His hands quickly found the right nodes to press, to put pressure on the abdomen until the water trapped inside came sputtering out of the suffering boy. The child responded, his coughing growing harsher and more effective in clearing any internal blockage by the minute. Darcy smelled the approaching tobacco, the last hope in fully resuscitating this struggling, poor creature. He hoped he wouldn't need it anymore.

"What, what - " The child began to speak, though still choking.

Darcy turned, eager to help, his hands reaching to support the child by the torso. The strange fabric met his hands - as did the bodily contents it suppressed underneath its vice, taut grip.

Her deathly scream, and the villagers' sharply drawn breath, and Darcy's own shocked, sudden, gaping withdrawal - woke up the entirety of Lambton and Pemberley before the sun even fully reached the sky.

* * *

"Lizzy, there shall be no argument. You shall marry the very moment the banns are read."

"Uncle Gardiner - "

"To be caught under such compromise - such indignity!" Her long-suffering relative collapsed on a nearby chair with a clearly defeated sigh. "Lizzy, you must see there is little I can do."

Elizabeth blinked rapidly, willing yet failing to keep the tears at bay.

She couldn't have known that one harmless morning trek would have such disastrous consequences. She couldn't have predicted - nay,  _no one_ could have predicted her need for rescue, her most public compromise, and her unwitting new fiancé.

Mr. Darcy had come this morning, armed with settlement papers her uncle described as extremely generous, under present circumstances. Her tall, foreboding suitor had then promptly asked for her hand in marriage, in full view of the family - and she, in turn, had dutifully accepted.

She saved her full grimace until her betrothed had left.

"Lizzy, I know it is not the marriage you would have wished for," Aunt Gardiner, ever the angel, comforted Elizabeth with a soothing hand. "But there is no reason to think ill of Mr. Darcy. The entire - situation resulted in his desire to aid you."

Elizabeth sniffed, knowing full well she had no one to blame but herself for her own boyish attire yesterday. Aunt Gardiner  _had_ often warned her of the unladylike nature of such pursuits.

"Could he not be so honorable, then?" Elizabeth wailed, a sigh in her tone. "I barely know him."

"At least she is handsome, Lizzy," young Kitty offered, with all her ten-year-old wisdom. The child had clearly been smitten by their visitor's heroism and bearing. "And he does not look angry all the time the way the butcher does."

Elizabeth smiled weakly at her cousin, her hands still picking at the loose threads on her skirt.

"I apologize, Lizzy, that such expectations be placed upon you." Uncle Gardiner's voice resumed its usual benevolence.

Elizabeth viewed her kindly relative through the blur of her own tears. This was the man who loved her when her own father had refused. This was the man who opened his home and his resources to an unconventional daughter his sister had left behind. His love was not of duty, but of true kindness and hope.

"I understand, Uncle," said Elizabeth. She mustered sufficient strength to smile, however faintly. "If I refuse to marry Mr. Darcy, your business would suffer. Kitty and her sisters would be ruined."

Uncle Gardiner nodded, his own eyes glassy now. Elizabeth felt her aunt reach for her hands.

"You are welcome to visit, Lizzy, as often as you wish or are permitted to."

The thought that she would henceforth need Mr. Darcy's permission to visit her own family irked Elizabeth, but she wisely kept her grumbles within.

"You are most kind, Aunt Gardiner."

"And we shall have the loveliest trousseau made for you - of the very latest and most flattering fashions."

Elizabeth laughed softly, finding the tiniest bloom amongst the thorns.

"Let no one say the new Mrs. Darcy does not appear winsome enough for his lonely widower's heart."

Elizabeth knew her aunt sought to comfort her - but the very idea of sharing a life with the mysterious Mr. Darcy - of sharing his home and heart - nearly made her shudder.

"I do not need any grand trappings for my new life, Aunt."

"Ah, but the  _new_ aunt you shall gain in Pemberley may have her own opinions about that."

* * *

Shrouded by the night, Darcy took off once more - hopping nimbly from awning to roof to window ledge until he safely reached the ground. He landed perfectly, his cloak settling down around his shoulders. Today, they received their license. Tomorrow, Darcy would once more be a married man.

Tonight, he steeled his nerves for one last night of freedom.

Would his new bride - fiery as she'd always seemed during the few calls he'd made to the Gardiner home - be content to remain an invisible presence as Anne always did? Would she occupy Lady Catherine for him - or bicker with the woman instead?

Darcy wondered, and hoped, that his evening activities would still be his to maintain without interruption.

He simply could not bear the thought of the poor, the weak, and the helpless - being left to the ravenous appetites of Lambton's seedier hordes.

"The Avenger shall save us," a young girl on the field comforted her crying brother, a few yards in front of his perch tonight. The two children looked lost - and wholly unprepared to be. Darcy, true to his calling, directed them safely home.

Another hour later brought about a woman's screams - her struggles as she sought to free herself from her drunken assaulters in a darkened alley. Darcy alighted quickly on the street, his mere presence scaring away half of the rotten crew. He then proceeded to finish off the remaining members - subduing and tying all three in five easy strokes. The constable would like his gift in the morning.

Unwilling to compromise himself yet again, Darcy took care to escort the grateful, sobbing young lady in the most appropriate means he could - and to disappear rapidly upon her safe deliverance to her family's doorstep.

"Mary! Child!" The family's surprised utterances trailed off as Darcy shrank into the shadows.

"The Avenger," he heard the girl say - before he flew through the trees towards home.

Soon, it would be dawn.

Soon, it would be his wedding day.

He never thought for a moment that he would marry again.

Anne was no outstanding wife; but he had little passion left in him to discover if there were others better than she. Ellie was to be the only child he ever knew. When he died, his will would inform all his insufferable family members of his every intent to disperse Pemberley's wealth to the truly needy.

It was perhaps ironic that Providence found him a wife whose family owned little fortune as well.

Darcy scaled the way back to his room with little difficulty. Beryl lay on her rug, sound asleep.

Darcy unencumbered himself of his visor, cloak, and boots. Miles would see to them in the morning.

Free from his role of avenger and savior, Fitzwilliam Darcy fell asleep on his vast expanse of a bed - partly nervous, partly resigned, and wholly fatigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must clarify once more the need for great willful suspension of disbelief to enjoy this story. Thank you for taking a wild ride with me! I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

Was it even  _acceptable_ for her to wear clothes this loose and thin and chilly?

Waiting alone on her wedding night, Elizabeth shuddered at the entrance of the next hissing breeze. Her new maid - Alice, she'd learned quickly - had been quick to pick out the thinnest item in her Gardiner-crafted trousseau the very moment Elizabeth had indicated a need to retire.

Her need to retire was, of course, driven slightly by fatigue and mostly by utter frustration at the grandiose Lady Catherine.

Surely, Mr. Darcy could hardly be much of a man to live with a woman so overbearing?

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy," Elizabeth recited aloud in the well-dressed sitting room, unaccustomed to the name so suddenly thrust upon her.

The news of a special license had delighted her uncle - and depressed her.

She was not one to demand much fuss over herself, and her wedding breakfast - with Lady Catherine's oversight - had sprung up overnight. Papa had not even bothered to come. Mama, the one person who would simply have  _adored_ being present, was irrevocably gone. Jane, heavy with child, could only send her warmest congratulations in writing.

For the first time in her very tiring day, Elizabeth sniffed.

"Mr. Darcy, madame," Alice announced, as she brought in the tea.

Elizabeth wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and faced her approaching new husband.

Kitty Gardiner hadn't been wrong. The man was decent - handsome, even. His tall frame and educated manners made him un-repulsive, at the least. He was no oily-handed baker's boy or sweet-talking soldier.

If anything, the man was  _too_ quiet of a person to bear.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth greeted with a curtsy, ridiculously formal.

Her husband's only response - was to nod.

"Shall we have tea?" He suggested, a quiet, stifled moment later.

Elizabeth nodded and, having dismissed all help, proceeded to prepare the drinks herself. Her hands shook, but she managed to drip only once upon the tray. The fragrance of the tea - intoxicating yet calm - reminded her of the splendor of her current circumstances, the exaggeration of her new role.

Less than a fortnight ago, she had been Lizzy Bennet - the unwanted child - the boyish troublemaker.

Today, tonight, she was suddenly called upon to be the most womanly of all women.

The thought was utterly ludicrous.

Her husband sat on the chair beside her, their sweets and teacups between them. He did not avoid her, but neither did he leer or even gaze fully upon her. It was as if she - the woman he had settled much wealth and status upon - was more invisible to him now than she was when she was flailing to her death on the lake.

Her husband was a strange man.

"Sir." She served him the better-filled cup of the two.

He regarded her offering for a moment before taking the drink, his fingertips brushing hers slightly in the process. The touch was negligible - yet significant all the same. Aunt Gardiner's wary, wandering words from last night left a strange unsettlement in Elizabeth's chest. Her loving aunt's references to bodily functions had been - informative. It was her aunt's wistful sighs and sparkling eyes that had displaced Elizabeth more.

How was she - who barely knew how to be a ladylike girl - expected to feel such  _womanly_ feelings towards her unknown, wooden, withdrawn husband of a man?

Lady Catherine's glare at the wedding breakfast hadn't simplified things, of course.

"I shall reside in the dower house for a few days, though I shall visit every day," the great aunt - for great she was in so many different ways, had declared to a fast-filling table. It seemed that everyone longed for a seat at an elusive Darcy family function. "It is unfortunate that my nephew has chosen to remarry so poorly, but I suppose it could not be helped."

Elizabeth had swallowed her food wordlessly, an animal cornered.

"You do look young and strong enough, I suppose," Lady Catherine had continued, "you would do well to yield Pemberley and Rosings Park the heirs it deserves - perhaps with children more healthy than my poor Eleanor Anne."

Elizabeth had nodded then, having no other recourse, and tolerated the imperious lady until her new husband arrived beside her.

She had heard about the lost Darcy daughter. Mr. Darcy had mentioned her himself during one of the few, chaperoned conversations they had had.

It had simply not occurred to her before that he would want another child, nay, children - and that she, the new Mrs. Darcy, would bear the brunt of the responsibility of providing said heirs.

"Sir," she dutifully rose now - a timid, awkward bride - and walked her way around the table to him. She rested a quaking hand on his arm. He looked at the contact slowly - then up towards her face.

She hoped he did not notice how she swallowed, their shared solitude too mountainous of a terrain for her sanity to scale.

"Mrs. Darcy," said he.

Her entire body tightened uncomfortably at the address.

Yet, she was brave - and she endured.

"Shall we visit your bedroom - sir?" Aunt Gardiner had mentioned something about gentleness and mixing forwardness and teasing. Elizabeth wondered just how well her current behavior reflected her aunt's instructions.

Her husband surprised her by placing a large, warm hand above her own. She met his eyes.

"Do you wish to - madame?"

She shook, all over. "I - I do not object."

"To being Mrs. Darcy - in name and in deed."

She tried not to cry - oh, she truly did. She tried to be brave and to forget the weight of the new life that had been so unceremoniously vested upon her. She tried to remember what she had promised at the altar today - to recall that this was the life Mama would gladly wish for her. She tried all she could to avoid the four helpless tears that trailed her cheeks and fell on the frills of her nightdress.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy." Her hands flew to her face. "I did not mean to insult. I understand your graciousness in agreeing to this marriage. My family is most grateful for your honor and your - "

"Sleep, Mrs. Darcy." He stood. "I shall see you in the morning."

She watched him finish his tea, set down his cup, and walk to his side of the suite.

His words before he stepped into his room sounded as if they were laced with simplicity, resignation, civility, and regret. "I have no need for an unwilling bride."

A full hour later, Elizabeth Darcy fell asleep on her wedding night - alone, relieved, exhausted, and confused - on the largest, most comfortable bed she had ever thought there could be.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy had been a remarried man for all of a fortnight when he incurred his injury.

As adventures went, it had been of the silly sort. He had already saved the girl, and the dog. He had installed everyone where they ought to be before he'd turned, carelessly, towards the back road back to Pemberley.

Then he'd tripped, on a tree root, and broken his own fall too harshly with his arm.

He had been fortunate the doctor found the injury insignificant. He had been fortunate as well that Miles had been awake far before the dawn.

Explaining the state of his body had been the truly torturous part of the entire ordeal.

"Sir, do you need assistance?" His new wife offered at every turn. She was kindly, he supposed - a small creature always earnestly needing to be needed. He declined her help, time and again. She was a dutiful wife - attending every breakfast and soirée Lady Catherine arranged - with nary a word of complaint. Darcy found the peace appeasing. He had no wish to rock the boat.

There were days - moments - when he wondered how altered of a person Elizabeth Darcy seemed from the scandalously clad child he'd saved from the lake. But she hadn't complained; so he never pushed.

Marital bliss seemed never to be in the cards for him anyhow - so he found himself content with marital peace.

It was almost ridiculous that this marriage, with its solitude and celibacy, was already far superior to the volatile one he had with Anne.

"Your actions in the bedroom ought not to interfere with your productivity for the estate, Fitzwilliam. It is most inappropriate that you allow yourself such  _liberties_  with your body. Pemberley's coffers are not for dressing unmanly wounds," Lady Catherine declared at breakfast today.

It was to Elizabeth's merit that she merely flinched.

Stolen glimpses - as both Fitzwilliam Darcy during the day and as the Avenger at night - yielded him a better-rounded view of his bride these past days. She never dressed like a man anymore, thank God, though she still moved freely in her clothes with large strides and wide gestures whenever she thought herself alone. She spoke as little as she could to Lady Catherine and to him, but she conversed fluidly with her maid. She never demanded material things for herself and shared unreservedly whatever she did have with the servants and tenants and guests.

More than once, Miles had let slide - that the staff liked their new mistress rather well.

Of course, one could argue that  _any_ mistress of natural human behavior was to be preferred over Lady Catherine.

The dower house had never felt nearer.

"Mr. Darcy, do you wish for tea?" Elizabeth's maid asked from his door tonight, full tray in hand.

Behind her, his wife paced restlessly in their sitting room.

The picture painted was both pleasant and comical. His wife cared enough to send her maid to serve him - but she seemed hesitant, even afraid, to approach him herself.

He did pity the woman at times.

"Thank you. I do not need any tonight," Darcy declined.

Alice nodded dutifully before retreating to the person she was expected to serve.

Darcy glanced at the arm lying rigidly by his side. Beryl barked softly by the window, as if in conversation.

Darcy smiled. In a mere two days, he should be out those very panes again.

* * *

It had been a month since her sudden marriage when the constant annoyance that was Lady Catherine elevated itself from nagging frustration to true villainy.

"Not even once!" The screeching matriarch descended upon Mrs. Darcy's chambers tonight, trains and plumes and all. Her husband had long since retired, a lifelong lover of solitude. The man was kind and civil - if utterly dull. As caretakers went, he sufficed. He seemed to take great care in not hurting or offending her, at the least.

If anything, the greatest sorrow of becoming Mrs. Darcy was the gift of Lady Catherine - the ever-lingering, watchful guard dog of her late daughter's conquest.

"Lady Catherine," Elizabeth greeted, rising from her seat by the fire.

"You think your maid's confidences to be trusted, you  _fool_." The august woman marched herself to the closest chair and sat upon it as if she owned the master suite. Elizabeth swallowed, uncomfortable. "A wife who neglects her duties is a wife no more than a maid. "

Elizabeth stole a glance at Alice, who trembled behind Lady Catherine - and sported a blackened eye.

Her heart clenched.

"Lady Catherine, I have never evaded your questions. If you wish to know of me or my  _duties_ , I assure you there is no need for violence."

Lady Catherine huffed and moved her arms together as if she were a preening bird of paradise.

"I should have opposed the marriage," she said as if talking to herself, though too loudly to be truly doing so, "It was errant of me to assume that you would at least be healthy and willing enough to produce an heir. My nephew is not unattractive, I'd presumed. I have wronged my own daughter."

Elizabeth shifted subtly towards the window, shrinking involuntarily from her unwelcome intruder. Oh how she longed, tonight of all nights, that she could slip past the glass behind her to the open expanse of the world!

"Has your mother taught you nothing?" Lady Catherine resumed her attentions on Elizabeth.

Despite every resolution to look strong, Elizabeth could not help the sniff that escaped her.

It was then that the interruption happened.

A large, flapping noise of wind against fabric began outside the window and whistled shrilly into the room.

Elizabeth turned, in awe and shock. Lady Catherine stood still - a victory in and of itself.

A black shadow whipped from one side of the building to the other - like a bird, or a bat, or a mythical creature. Elizabeth felt Lady Catherine physically recoil, rushing to make her way out the door as quickly as her ornate garments allowed her to.

Elizabeth held her breath, hopeful.

"What is this  _monstrosity_?" The harshness in Lady Catherine's tone had given way to a frantic helplessness - a resonant fear.

Elizabeth watched the faceless creature move freely in all directions - an ambidextrous wonder. It was a person. Now she was sure.

She reached out slowly, her fingertips inching towards the pull of adventure her window promised.

"Mrs. Darcy, I command you to stop!"

Elizabeth ignored the request and walked closer still.

There was a rush, a thrill, in her heart. It was a feeling she hadn't had since the moment her watery accident had doomed her to a life of tedious domesticity.

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy!" Lady Catherine screeched - before falling to the floor in a dead faint.

Elizabeth turned then, though unwillingly. The servants, including loyal Alice, rushed to assist the great mistress. Elizabeth watched as they fanned and carried her to the best of their abilities. When it became clear that Lady Catherine still breathed, Elizabeth ordered the servants to deliver her to her quarters and to make sure the lady rested. The servants, bless their hearts, obeyed.

Elizabeth reversed quickly, losing no time to rush back to her bedroom window.

But all signs of the mysterious creature were gone - no traces or clues or remnants of shadows.

Elizabeth Darcy stood on her own in her cold, abandoned room - a wounded bird in a gilded cage.

And she was determined to break free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the Derbyshire Avenger and the new Mrs. Darcy cross paths! I promise more D/E interactions in the next chapter. I hope this chapter provided some progress to enjoy at least :)


	4. Chapter 4

In hindsight, he should have noticed that the humanly shape in the darkness was a person - particularly, a woman.

"Sir!" Her hushed whisper surprised him, rooting him temporarily upon his spot in the grass.

No one knew of these back routes except his gardener, or, perhaps, Miles. Darcy let go of the way his healthy arm nursed his aching one. The sprain had recovered, but lingering discomforts remained. His sword did feel heavy when he tossed it in his other hand tonight.

"Who goes there?" Darcy pulled himself to full height, inclining his head only slightly to make sure his visor covered as much of his face as it could and should.

"I shall not hurt you," the lady offered - funny as it was for her, with a figure much smaller than his, to assure him so.

Slowly, she walked towards the pool of moonlight between them. Like him, she wore a hooded cloak, though hers concealed only her face and shoulders.

She reached up both her hands, curled her fingers into the edges of her garment, and peeled back the hood.

Darcy tried his best to stifle any silly responses of moans, gasps, or hums of approval. His wife did look handsome in these circumstances. It was as if her presenting herself to this version of him - the one who skirted danger and roamed free of Pemberley - roused in him a new outlook on what their interactions could be.

"My name is Elizabeth Darcy. I am the mistress of Pemberley," she stated proudly. Darcy felt his own pride rising as well.

"I see."

"You were by my window three nights ago," she continued.

Darcy paused, unsure how to respond to such a statement.

"I must thank you," she said. He wondered, momentarily, if it was wise at all for her to wander the grounds at night, thus unaccompanied. "You - delivered me, sir, from a most - difficult situation."

Darcy bowed, still searching for the words he felt he ought to say but couldn't find.

"You are the Derbyshire Avenger," his wife continued. This conversation was already the longest they had ever shared since their acquaintance. "I have asked after you these few days, but you have not appeared by my window. The servants say you aid the weak, the poor, and the needy. I may not have been poor - but I was weak, and you did assist me in my time of need."

Darcy sighed slightly, feeling both flattered and embarrassed.

It had been a choice of impulse to appear by her window that night. He'd overheard Lady Catherine's tirade, but he had already changed into his night-time garb. When the older woman's insults escalated, he'd done the one thing he could swiftly do with a sore arm and barely-dimmed evening lights.

It seems he had left an impression on his astute wife.

"You stay in Pemberley," she said.

Darcy looked up, suddenly nervous.

"I've waited by my window for days - and waited from here for two nights. Each night, you depart for Lambton. Each night, you return to Pemberley's grounds."

What no one had discovered in dozens of years, Elizabeth had uncovered in a matter of days.

Darcy wondered to be impressed or afraid.

He took a single step closer. "You have waited to observe me, madame?"

"All on my own, I assure you. Your - actions and choices speak of a desire to maintain anonymity."

Darcy nodded, pleased by her perception. He could not bear the thought of having been so careless with his identity.

"And so you come here tonight," he said, his voice an affected, low growl. "To say thanks."

"Yes." She paused, as if in thought. Then, she looked up with fiery, frightened eyes. "Sir, Avenger, tell me - is my husband keeping you captive?"

"Your - husband - he - "

"Or is his aunt - is Lady Catherine - is she enslaving you?"

Darcy blinked in muted surprise. For all Elizabeth's perception,  _that_ was the situation she'd inexplicably concluded upon.

He spoke three seconds later. "I assure you, madame, that I am no one's slave."

She sighed, as if in relief.

"My husband is no adventurer, but I had hoped that he was at least truly kind."

The irony of the entire situation did not escape him.

"The masters of Pemberley have never done me ill," said Darcy, attempting to assure her further.

Elizabeth nodded repeatedly, seemingly to assure herself with his words. "It is kind of them to offer you room and board, I suppose."

"Yes - I suppose."

For another quiet minute, the evening creatures were all he heard.

"I believe I shall retire after an evening's busy activities, madame," it was he who offered first. "Perhaps your ladyship would prefer to rest as well?"

Elizabeth, against all his expectations,  _laughed_. "I am no lady, sir."

He stiffened instantly, deeply uncomfortable with the thought of his wife - however virginal - declaring such thoughts to strange men at night.

"That is to say, I mean - " She blushed, a lovely picture. "I do not take well to sitting indoors and doing embroidery and playing the pianoforte all day."

Darcy nodded slowly, gradually realizing the revealing nature of this exchange. What she kept under wraps, demure and willing, as a wife - she conversed of freely as a young adventurer in the moonlight.

"And is there a way I can assist you in this matter, madame?" He found himself offering without pause.

"I - I would very much like - there is - " For the first time all night, she appeared less articulate than he.

He patiently waited for her to craft her words.

She sighed, rather loudly, a moment later, before standing as tall as she could. "I wish to assist you, sir, in your mission."

"Assist - me?"

"I am of the sturdy sort - able to climb and run and move stealthily in the dark. My husband provides me a generous allowance we can use to aid the poor. I believe I shall be of great value to you as a partner, sir - an accomplice, if I may."

Darcy felt dumbfounded, truly. "The dangers of the night are great and varied, Mrs. Darcy. I cannot allow a lady such as yourself to - "

"I do not fear dangers, nor the night." There was a pleading tone in her voice now. Did she feel as compelled to leave the house as he? "I need purpose, and I need - I need  _tasks_ I have the ability to accomplish well. Sir, you must understand."

She looked at him imploringly - her basked in silver and he shrouded in black.

It was as if she had every goodness of the light - but yearned to join him in the darkness.

The image was all too tempting.

"Mrs. Darcy - "

"I do next to nothing with my days, sir. Perhaps you could have mercy and grant meaning to my nights?"

The choice of her words were innocent - her eyes said as much - but still they stirred misguided feelings in his chest.

"Mr. Avenger - "

"We can meet to discuss the matter - tomorrow."

* * *

If she had ever doubted the wisdom of her meeting the Avenger on her own, one personal encounter with the remarkable man was all she needed to cast aside all future hesitations.

Elizabeth Bennet had always been a woman born for adventure.

How could she suddenly curb the purpose of her entire existence merely because she'd magnificently and suddenly changed her name?

"Sir!" She ran quickly when she saw him tonight. It was the fourth time they'd met this way. While he remained civil and distant during the first two encounters, the evening hero of Derbyshire had relaxed somewhat in her presence since.

She had relaxed too - and now wore black breeches and shirt and coat and boots - mirroring his attire.

A visit to her uncle and aunt's warehouse had proven most helpful.

"Which way shall we take tonight?" She inquired eagerly when she'd finally drawn close enough to be heard through a whisper. The man was fast - equipped with well[honed skills that allowed him to glide effortlessly across large distances. Her feet had gained much exercise each time they met.

The Avenger paused, perhaps thinking yet again if he should allow her to join.

She'd assisted him for nearly half a month now. Surely, he could not still be having second thoughts?

"I believe the Kane family recovers well," she offered, anxious to gain any sort of reaction she could from her brooding work partner.

The man - dark cloak and all - nodded tersely. She supposed it was but normal to him to see families regaining strength and health and well-being after his aid.

It was difficult, at times, not to stand in awe at the power, strength, and kindness one man wielded.

Would that she had such admiration for her father or her husband!

Elizabeth shook her head to whisk the ungodly thoughts away.

"I fear for your safety, Mrs. Darcy," the Avenger expressed the one thing he most loved to allude to. His movements, stealthy yet precise, commanded a quiet respect as he turned to face her. His height was formidable, his hidden visage even more so. "Your family may frown upon my allowing you to accompany me on such dangerous endeavors."

"My family cares only what I do during the day." Elizabeth had tasted the thrill of saving the village people. She had helped revive the suffering child during their last adventure. She had witnessed - and nearly participated - in the rumble that drove the robbers away. She  _refused_ to be content to be put away  _now_. "I spend my nights - unaccompanied."

The Avenger looked at her stiffly, as if measuring the tone of her voice.

She did not lie. She had nothing to hide.

"You do not possess a happy marriage?" The question was unanticipated, even then.

"The state of my marriage interferes little with my desire to help." She took the questioning in stride. She'd survived Lady Catherine. Surely, she could survive the rough and awkward inquiries of a secret hero too! "My husband does not stop me from my personal pursuits."

"Personal pursuits."

"I - yes." She was determined to convince him, determined to seek after whatever source of adventure her current life left room for. "He is a kindly man - and will not judge."

She hoped he would not judge. The man had married her after he had saved her when she had been dressed as a  _man_.

A person like that wouldn't be overly harsh over societal rules now - would he?

"You are untrained," the Avenger said, his voice gravelly and dark. "I cannot vouch for your safety if you were embroiled in the thick of danger."

"I am able-bodied and fit to master any maneuvers necessary to ensure safety for myself and our attendees."

"I work alone."

"You do not have to."

"There are too many things to learn, too many skills you would be tasked to acquire. The nobility of seeking to serve does not equate to the actual ability to do so."

"Then, sir - please." She stepped close enough to nearly see parts of his face. "Teach me."

* * *

A part of him knew that he was encouraging all the wrong things in her. He knew she needed rest, and peace, and serenity. He married her to protect her from accusations and harm.

But, God forgive him, his wife never looked more enticing than she did whenever they closed upon a villain - delivering families from the plague of highwaymen and drunkards. Her eyes would sparkle, her breath grow short. To maintain secrecy, he'd come to call her by another name -  _'Sylvia_ ,' his lady of the moonlit forest. And unlike his own complicated history with his identity as the Avenger, Darcy felt that the evening iteration of Elizabeth Darcy was the truer one in comparison to her quiet, daylight self.

"Should we intervene now?" She whispered by his ear - a breathless, thrilling sensation - as they balanced precariously within the intricate boughs of the sprawling tree.

Darcy, clad in black, signaled with his hand to wait. The quarrel had not escalated. The men may yet calm themselves. Beside him, Elizabeth complied.

Ever since that first conversation they had shared in the darkness of the night - she had intrinsically trusted him. She had pressed him to allow her to join him, proved her mettle again and again by mastering every lesson he presented. She had a natural talent for martial arts - her footwork as fluid as a well-trained debutante's on the ballroom floor.

Still, despite her strength, a degree of femininity graced her movements and gestures. She was not one for brute force - only focused strides and high precision.

God help the man who fell in love with his wife while portraying an entirely different person.

"Now?" She whispered again, her lips pink from the light of the moon. He noted to himself that, should these missions continue, he truly ought to make her a disguise of her own.

Darcy turned to observe the interactions that had now heightened into a drunken brawl on the street.

Through the slits of his visor, he watched the debauched youths wander about until they straggled slightly apart.

"Now!" Darcy commanded, and off they both leapt into the thick of the action.

Darcy's long strides led him to the scene first, taking the small crowd by surprise. One whip of his right arm subdued two vagabonds. With his left foot, he cleared another.

Behind him, he heard Elizabeth exercising the very steps and methods he'd taught her three nights ago. The clipped moans of the men now rolling on the floor reminded Darcy he may need to impart another lesson on two on controlling her raw strength.

He did enjoy being her teacher - in the very part of his current life that he valued most.

The men, impaired by strong drink, were easy to overcome - and Darcy promptly lined them up in a row against the two walls before they could inflict further damage among themselves or, worse yet, against innocent villagers. Elizabeth was quick to help, though Darcy nearly kicked one of the youths in rather inappropriate places when the boy dared to leer at a hooded Elizabeth.

"We did it! So quickly and so well!" She yelled jubilantly half an hour later, when they neared the back road to Pemberley.

Darcy watched, heart light, as she swirled and laughed in the moonlight.

She was - bewitching.

"I am getting better, am I not?" She asked, a tad too loudly, when she whipped around to face him. There was pride, and freedom, in her voice.

Darcy smiled and nodded. "You most certainly are."

"The one with the tattered sleeve tried to stop me," she recounted on, voice dreamy as she wandered and flitted about. "I saw him coming and used my arm as you said, and I aimed for his chest and then he  _tumbled_  to the ground! His friend did not dare sneak upon me after that."

Darcy smiled, admiring the unlikely view he had on his return tonight.

"It is - oh, it is spectacular, isn't it - to help the village so?" Enraptured with the images in her own mind, she turned carelessly around the next corner. "When you thrust your arm to prevent the tall one from - oh!"

"Careful!" Darcy flung his way across the path and caught her by the waist - right before she tumbled into the pond. He pulled her close instinctively, wary of having to save her yet again from a dreary, watery fate. She clung to his body in response, thankfully stable.

What Darcy had  _not_ accounted for was the sight of her face - rosy and starry - inches from his when he finally looked down.

Sylvia - he wished to call her; Elizabeth - he longed to breath.

Her lips, perfectly arched, beckoned to him.

He hadn't touched any part of her face since the day he's saved her from the lake.

Would tonight truly be the best time to try again?

"Thank you." She panted, her chest heaving against his own. "Mr. Avenger."

"Of course." He gently let her go and watched her scurry home.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy, would this suffice?"

He looked up from his seat, surprised at Elizabeth's voice. She looked decidedly different in this light - draped in a frilly white night gown rather than the athletic blacks he'd learned to see often on her. In her hands, she bore the basin of hot water he'd requested from Miles.

"My apologies, Mrs. Darcy, I had not expected Miles to be so negligent."

He reached to take the basin from her. She, to his surprise, resisted.

"I - I took it from him." There was a slight, pretty blush on her face as she explained. Her eyes dodged between him and the water repeatedly. "I wished to - assist you."

Darcy froze slightly, unable to decipher if her words carried any implication beyond simply supplying the water he needed to nurse his aching elbow.

"Thank you," he said instead - and she slid the basin beside him with a smile.

Wordlessly, she aided him in rolling up his sleeve and immersing his arm in the comforting water. Beryl barked softly from the adjoining chair, sounding nearly happy at the sight of his master and mistress coexisting in peace.

Darcy smiled gratefully as he settled in.

"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. I am most pleased."

She smiled softly, for a sliver of a moment. Her nights with the Avenger had assured him of her ability to smile even more freely, more joyously.

Why was it that he used to be content to see her stilted movements and to interpret them as ease enough?

His wife was vibrant - a bursting flame of life and strength and passion.

Ought he to mourn that she only exposed that facet of her to a stranger in the night?

"Is there something you need, madam? You look - pensive." He took care to use the regular tones of his voice, steering clear of the dark gravelly voice he adopted along with his darker clothes.

She met his eye, thinking openly.

She was not acting forward, nor nervously - not at all like their awkward wedding night.

"Perhaps if you will, sir," she began. He waited patiently for her to enunciate each word and thought. Had she realized that he and the Avenger were one and the same? Did she wish for him to increase her freedom, or allowance, or assistance in any way? "Could we share a walk in the morning?"

The offer was so strange - so sudden and surprising and pleasing to him - that he couldn't help but smile.

"Gladly, Mrs. Darcy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress as promised! I hope this chapter was as fun to read as it was to write :)


	5. Chapter 5

His enjoyment of his morning walks of late – tinged with a tense simplicity and soothing sunlight – had begun to grow dangerously close to his indulgence of the night.

His muscles suffered from the lack of exercise. Fitzwilliam Darcy the quiet, reliable husband could hardly perform strange physical feats before his equally thoughtful wife while their relationship lay so precariously between them.

Given the joy he drew from her presence these still morning hours, however, he was content to lose just those few hours more sleep each night to refine his skills.

Lady Catherine could deal with his breakfast yawns with as much huffing and puffing as she would prefer.

"May we sit?" Elizabeth turned at the bend, hand reached out gently towards the stone bench.

Darcy nodded, attempting a small, polite smile. "Of course."

They took their seats, each filled with muted thoughts of their own.

Since the night he'd nearly saved her from yet another fall into the lake, a subtle shift had overtaken the air between them. Where evening Elizabeth had grown more subdued – happy, focused, yet doused with a shot of pensiveness – morning Elizabeth had become increasingly accessible – speaking to him by choice, sometimes with an undemanding smile. His reactions had altered as hers did.

He did not know which facet of her he liked more.

He did not know which version of himself he truly even was.

"Does Lambton never sleep?" Morning Elizabeth asked beside him today.

Darcy followed her gaze to the slowly-rousing village in the distance. The roads remained empty still, though the soft noises of the dawn had begun their rumble.

"Different lives follows different hours, one supposes," he mused, his hands resting on the bench beside his thighs. Her hands folded neatly on her lap. "The farmer and the maid – the mother and the child – the scholar and the scribe – each person runs his own race from one's rising to one's rest."

Elizabeth nodded and hummed softly, as if in gentle agreement.

Unlike Lady Catherine – and, in many ways, even Anne – the new Mrs. Darcy never seemed to asked questions to entrap or to misguide. She talked as she did, never once claiming discontent with the nature of his answers not complying with any foregone conclusions.

Her nature refreshed him more thoroughly than the scents of the morning could.

"Are you – sleeping well, madam?" Darcy felt the need to express his own concern.

Elizabeth pulled back slightly, as if perturbed by the simple question. She looked askance, before looking once more towards the nearby town.

"I rest very well every night, sir," she assured him, with slightly more force in her words than morning Elizabeth was wont to use.

"Very good," he said, like a fumbling fool.

He wondered if he ought to say more – to transform their short exchanges into actual conversation. Was he close to being as acceptable to her as Fitzwilliam Darcy as he was as the Avenger? He wondered in the hush of the morning if he had social courage as much as he had physical strength.

"Lady Catherine!" A young voice called out.

Darcy turned, surprised at the intrusion.

"Lady Catherine! Mr. and Mrs. Darcy shall return – "

"Lady Catherine!"

More than one servant joined the effort to restrain what was now clearly the form of a stomping, determined Lady Catherine storming his way.

Darcy stood slowly; Elizabeth followed by his side.

His mother by former marriage barged on, clinging papers in her hand.

Darcy considered, for a brief moment, if the exalted lady had always been able to stalk this fast.

"I have found you out!" Declared Lady Catherine, red in the face, when she finally arrived at the couple's feet. She directed her gaze at Elizabeth – and flung the stack of papers against her face.

"Aunt Catherine!" Darcy reprimanded immediately, hands flying to hold his wife. She leaned against him, with a slight shiver of the shoulders. "Surely there is no cause to warrant such behavior."

"Your shrew of a wife – a woman too  _precious_ to share your bed – has been stealing your riches and thrusting them into the  _dirty_ arms of her family."

Darcy huffed, caught entirely by surprise. His aunt had always been difficult – but to interrupt his solitude thus, with outlandish accusations in tow, was entirely unacceptable.

"Surely, it is a misunderstanding."

"Have you not monitored her allowances? Her own accounts reflect large amounts of wasted costs – money unlisted, materials never used."

"Lady Catherine," Elizabeth herself protested.

"She is a liar, a thief, and a con," Lady Catherine seethed. Her heaving chest moved dramatically along with her thick limbs and vermilion face. "Annul this joke of a marriage and have done with it!"

A thousand protests rushed upon Darcy's tongue, not the least of which was that he  _knew_ exactly where his wife's recent generosity had turned. His heart flew rapidly in anger – righteous rage against such an unseemly demand from such an unseemly woman at such an ungodly hour.

He had tolerated Lady Catherine out of respect for his mother and Anne.

It seemed such respect had never been mutual.

"Aunt Cath – "

He had no chance to finish before his wife broke into a sobbing mess, flung off the arms he held around her, and ran towards the house.

He had no opportunity to see her again for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Sir!" She ran towards him that night, cloth bag in tow, particularly eager after having waited for hours in the dark. "Sir, please, wait!"

He paused in the shadow, his back turned against her.

"Sir." Elizabeth slowed her steps, deciding to approach the cloaked man with a heightened degree of restraint.

"You have been waiting." His gravelly tones held no hint of good humor tonight.

Elizabeth swallowed. "Yes, for you - sir."

He stood still, almost as if he slept while standing, deep breaths rocking his body in a steady rise and fall.

Elizabeth blinked quickly, eager to stay her tears.

"Did you wish to aid me tonight?" The Avenger asked, when even the crickets stilled.

Elizabeth looked up at him sharply, a thousand hopes and fears clenching her heart.

"I wish, sir - to aid you every night - if could be."

He whirled around suddenly, stomping forward against her in a strange, powerful force. She stumbled backwards to make room for his approach. She clutched her possessions against her chest, the meager things she hoped would last her many years of flight.

"You are a married woman - to the wealthiest man in Derbyshire. You have hearth, and home, and husband. And yet instead of his bed, I find you here - every night - seeking thrills in ways no lady ought to be."

"I beg your pardon, sir!"

"Do you disdain your life, Sylvia? Is Mrs. Darcy too oppressive a title to bear?"

"Did he - did my - did Mr. Darcy ask you to question me?"

"Mr. Darcy - " The Avenger stopped to let loose a long, almost bitter laugh. "You think he controls you through me?"

"No, sir - no, I do not." It was her turn to beg. She  _had_ to have him listen to what she needed to say. "I come not as anyone but myself - as Elizabeth, sir."

He met her eye briefly, a darting consciousness peering from her from under his visor. He stood close to her, not having backed away since his fierce approach mere minutes ago.

She took her chance.

"I come tonight as nothing more than a damsel in distress myself."

He did not answer, but he seemed to listen on.

"I seek respite, sir - refuge. I know no man as heroic as you. I need your aid and assistance and deliverance."

"Deliverance," he echoed, his deep voice reverberating in the breezes of the night.

"Free me - please." Her throat ached from her afternoon of mourning, from her tears and frustrations and haphazard packing. She'd fled the garden this morning a sobbing mess. She came to the clearing tonight a determined victim.

Oh how she would show Lady Catherine the price of her claims! She cared little if her departure led to her shame. What she sought was suffering and downfall for the proud, haughty woman.

She could only hope the letter she'd left her husband would suffice in bringing his family to their knees.

"Sylvia, do not cry."

Elizabeth felt surprise at the gentle words - and even more surprise at the gloved hand that rose to brush her cheek. She lifted her eyes slowly, afraid to lose the sympathy she had seemed to finally earn.

"What do you wish?" Her companion prodded.

"Your protection - your help."

He stood closer. Her heart began a series of twists that felt foreign and wonderful and hurtful and strange.

"You wish to come away - with me?"

"Yes," she squeaked.

And he lowered his lips to kiss her.

* * *

Quite unlike the novels, Elizabeth found her eyes widening instead of closing at the sudden contact. The man - her comrade and hero - was  _kissing_ her, in the dark of the night, no less. For a heartbeat or two, she let him - even moving her lips slightly back against his.

But she, against all accusations, was a lady. She was a  _married_ lady.

And her pride and principles demanded that she re-open her eyelids as they struggled to fall - and to shove away her now-assailant as strongly as she could.

He straggled back several steps, hand flying to secure his visor.

"What are you  _doing_ , sir!" She demanded, her voice rising unwisely loudly.

"You said - you asked - " The usual defender sounded defenseless, just this once.

"I have not given you permission - nor invitation - to act so -  _brazenly_." She wrapped her arms around her body, shrinking away from the man she had so admired and sought mere moments ago.

"You spoke of deliverance - and protection." The strain in his voice remained.

"I meant only - as an accomplice, sir. I - I never offered myself as a - lover." The last word escaped her with a shudder. Had she managed to compromise herself  _again_ in a mere span of weeks?

No villagers looked on this time, at the least.

"You are loyal to your husband - then?"

Elizabeth shifted at the question. It was a matter she had never truly spent time pondering upon before.

"He is a - good man," she concluded. He was, truly. Despite her frustrations against the ever-present Lady Catherine, Elizabeth had to admit her husband's greatest faults to have been disinterest and passivity. He had - and she believed he would - never truly hurt her. "He is - of the quiet sort. He never seems to wander far from his study, except for a walk or two."

The Avenger had grown quiet himself.

"When I talk of freedom - 'tis mostly from his aunt, and not from him," Elizabeth continued, finding relief in putting into words the things she had thus far kept hidden in her heart. "Mr. Darcy respects me enough, though he may be gruff about it, at times."

"He is gruff," the Avenger echoed, as if in question.

"Not that he is ever rude." Elizabeth paced slightly, incapable of staying still as she reevaluated her strange life of late. "He can be - curt, however, when he speaks. I suppose not every man is as eloquent as the novels depict them to be."

"I see."

"I have no reason to complain, I know." She leaned against a tree trunk now, exhausted from her day of charged emotions. "He is an honorable man who chose to marry me despite my low connections - and such a scandalous compromise, no less. Did you know we wed by special license?"

The awkwardness of their previous exchange dissipated with every word she confided. The man of action was a willing listener, at least.

"I see," he said again.

"It pains me to hurt him if I run away, you know." Elizabeth sighed. "He has been rather kind, particularly in recent days. It  _is_ selfish and childish of me to dishonor him when he's been nothing but honorable to me."

"I see."

The growling command her nighttime comrade had sported all this time had been replaced by two complacent, repetitive words.

"But his aunt is overbearing - and accuses me so - when I am  _trying_ to be a wife, and I am  _trying_ to be a lady." Unhappy tears raced to fill her eyes. She sniffed and sobbed most improperly. "And he does  _nothing_! My husband watches and observes as if all the belittlement and anger had nothing whatsoever to do with him. He is forbearing - but unhelpful, nonetheless."

Elizabeth stooped to the ground, heart heavy. She had no delusions of romance upon entering the married state under the circumstances she had.

But she  _had_  hoped for at least a good man - and a man to whom she mattered after having been reviled by her own family for so long.

"Sylvia - "

She let the Avenger stray closer this time - and she did not flinch when he rested a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"I apologize for my - assumptions." It was obvious the creature was unaccustomed to seeking forgiveness.

Elizabeth sniffed, then nodded. "I forgive you, sir."

A low whistle escaped him, almost like the fringes of a sigh of relief.

"You are an admirable lady, Mrs. Darcy."

She let the compliment sink into her heart, a light despite the physical and emotional darkness. Then she looked up gratefully, hopeful that she had rediscovered her friend once more.

"Shall you let me join you again - in fighting evil?" She had never been one to mince words.

"Here - in Lambton," he clarified.

"Wherever you allow me, sir."

He paused as if in thought. There was a vague familiarity about the way he posed his chin. She did not dwell too much on the feeling.

"I cannot take you away, Sylvia - not when you yourself know how much it would hurt your husband."

Elizabeht looked down. "I understand."

"But there is no reason I should not seek to be your friend and supporter - and your battlefield companion for each skirmish I conquer."

Now, she found herself brimming with hope and joy and freedom.

His visor separated them, but she met his eyes nonetheless.

"Truly, sir?"

A grim smile formed itself under the Avenger's disguise.

"I promise."

She smiled now, with a gladness and a relief she had not felt since the first evening he had permitted her to aid him.

"But I believe you have unfinished business, Mrs. Darcy."

She waited for his advice. She would  _always_ wait for his advice now.

"There is a letter you may need to destroy before Lady Catherine discovers it."

She started, realizing his wisdom.

"Yes, of course I must. I must also return my things and I - " She looked at her faceless friend as she stood and prepared to return. Despite his earlier faux pas, there was a heightened gentleness and understanding to their unlikely camaraderie. "Thank you, sir."

He bowed deeply before urging her to obey him once more.

"I shall see you another night hence."

She smiled. "Yes, yes - you shall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take some time to say that I know Darcy's tolerance of Lady Catherine so far is uncharacteristic. The thing is - in the original work, the "villain" of the story is the male lead's mother. As I didn't have the heart to villify Lady Anne, I settled with Lady Catherine instead. The result is that Darcy is exhibiting a little unreasonable forbearance for someone who is just an aunt and ex-mother-in-law. Please go with it. I hope the rest of the story has been entertaining enough at least!


	6. Chapter 6

"A cookie?" He could not help the slight edge of laughter in his tone when Elizabeth, his Sylvia, chose to celebrate their latest victory by procuring said pastry from the black pouch on her black belt.

"Is it very silly, sir?" She balked slightly.

"No - not at all," he assured her.

Their tentative truce over the past fortnight had grown increasingly comfortable for him, and he refused to anger her again over something as silly as a midnight snack. Nestled under their favorite tree of late, he accepted her offer and tried to nibble on the item with as much dignity and manliness he could muster. No one would be awake enough at this time of night to supervise his actions. No one knew how awkwardly he attempted to keep the crumbs away from his tailored garb - or how carefully he sheathed and poised his weapons when unused. No one knew how welcome the thought of a spare morsel at this hour was. Miles helped him to ready himself each night, and Beryl encouraged him unfailingly.

There was just something, however, that only a lady partner would truly notice.

"Your stomach grumbles whenever the quests take long," Elizabeth explained, as if having read his thoughts, before she settled beside him to snack from her own piece.

Thank God no one knew either that he drifted closer to her each night, oftentimes brushing the edge of his arm against hers.

The kiss they had shared a fortnight ago, however sudden and brief, had roused in him feelings that he had never before considered true. His Cambridge friends had often mocked him to be a monk - ever secluded, ever stoic. His short-lived marriage with Anne had introduced him to certain bodily functions that proved convenient, though far from life-altering. He had cared for little Ellie in her few days of life.

But the tenderness Elizabeth wrought in him - the longing to cherish, to hold, and to love her - was of an entire different sort.

"I am not gifted in the feminine skills," his Sylvia chatted as they ate, "I hope the taste is not overly offensive."

"You - " Darcy regarded the single bite still left in his hand "You made this?"

Elizabeth smiled readily, almost happily. "My husband has been kind to me of late. He apologized, however stiffly, for not protecting me against his aunt. He waits for me now before he departs the breakfast table - ensuring that I never face the harsh woman alone."

Darcy was quite unsure of the purpose of her narrative, but he listened, nonetheless.

"I thought it would be nice to do something for him as well - though what  _can_ you give a man who has everything?"

Elizabeth gestured towards the main Pemberley house with her arms. She spoke with gusto, with a spirited sincerity Darcy had never before encountered in an adult - much less upon a lady.

"Then I thought of how Aunt Gardiner would comfort her husband whenever he looked tired - and I thought of all the cakes and pastries she would have the servants make for him."

"They are the - drapers, are they not?"

"Yes." She seemed none-too-alarmed at his remembering such details of her life. "And, well, I thought to try - at least - to express concern in action. God knows Mr. Darcy won't respond to words."

Darcy fidgeted slightly, feeling rebuffed, if not intentionally.

"I do not remember much of what my aunt makes, but I do remember this recipe. The Pemberley servants - once I managed to have them alone - did well enough in following the instructions I so ineffectively dispensed."

"I see."

"My husband ate nearly the entire tray I sent to his study today. I thought - perhaps we could reward ourselves with the rest."

Was it appropriate to feel jealousy for a man - who was yourself? Darcy frowned beneath his visor, beginning to confuse himself.

He  _had_ , as Elizabeth said, been exerting himself more in recent days to be the husband she needed. She needed protection and care, not merely money and servants. If their evening excursions had proven anything at all - she needed purpose and personal support.

Was it better for the husband or the thief in the night to be the answer to her needs?

He knew - though disliked - the answer.

"The pastry tastes most pleasant," he took care to speak in his dark, nightfall voice.

"I am glad."

She did not seem overly attached to the compliment, but she did lean back against the tree trunk, causing her loosened hair to brush against his shoulder. Why men preferred their wives prim and proper eluded Darcy.  _His_ wife, flushed with triumph and physical activity, looked best whenever she rested at ease after a they had conquered yet another band of evil men.

"Do you - like your husband, Sylvia?" He asked before thinking.

She looked up, then down, as if considering.

"I like him well enough."

"Do you care for him? Do you - love him?"

She looked down at her own fidgeting hands. Darcy waited for the result of his own stupidity.

"I suppose - as one would love a pretty statue, or admire a studious master - oh, like one would love a dog!"

Darcy figured it wasn't too sad to be cared for as he did for Beryl.

"I see." And he swallowed the rest of his cookie in one gulp.

* * *

"And they did look so very happy and relieved!" Elizabeth gushed, two days later, when he walked her towards the exterior of the family wing. There were always fresh joys to be had in every night's victories.

"You did well, Sylvia," answered the Avenger. He was light-footed today - almost happy in his gait.

She was glad he reaped some gladness from his labors.

It was nearly dangerous too - the way the highwayman had come running at his back tonight, glistening knife in hand. She'd felt no hesitation at that moment, and she'd driven her blade into the attacker's arm with strength and precision.

And, at the end of it all, she had the privilege of wandering back to luxuriously-prepared mistress chambers.

Her present life truly wasn't bad, when one thought about it.

"I bid you goodnight, milady." The Avenger bowed, right beneath the wall whose ledges led directly to her room. Elizabeth turned around, thrill in her blood.

"Thank you." She reached out to hug him. He winced, but did not recoil, at her touch. "Thank you for allowing me to aid you still."

There was a quiet moment before he replied, a tentative hand upon her back. "It is my pleasure, madame. I owe you my life."

"Oh, you do not." Elizabeth giggled as she let go. It was ludicrous to suggest that he would have failed without her presence. "But perhaps - a finger or an ear."

Even in the dark, she saw the smile beneath his visor.

"Rest well, Mr. Avenger." It was her turn to bid goodbye.

With expert familiarity, she hoisted herself upon the lowest window sill - then climbed her way to the jutting ledge above the doorway arch. Using the balance the Avenger had taught her, she glided smoothly upon ledge upon ledge upon ledge. It took little to no effort to land at last on the wider landing right outside her window. She looked down - and saw no trace of the mysterious man.

Sylvia had long since gone to bed. It was her turn to be Mrs. Darcy once more.

Elizabeth eased herself indoors, careful to avoid catching any corners of any fabrics against the architecture. She heard faint sounds of Beryl rousing in the adjoining room - before the pup snored again.

It was always a thrill to arrive at her homestead after a productive evening adventure.

"Madam, you must not!" A sudden burst of protest piercing through the walls drew her instant attention. Loud footsteps and a heavy huff spoke of none other than the veritable Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth dove behind the changing screen, purging herself quickly of any evidence of the night. Strips of heavy fabric tied in practical, secure knots fought harshly against her fingers' attempts to loosen them. The footsteps and cries grew louder. Elizabeth was not foolish enough to doubt that her self-appointed mother by marriage would care for her privacy.

Quickly, she ditched her trousers and reached for the nightshirt Alice knew to always leave behind. She hadn't slid on the fabric ten seconds before Lady Catherine burst into the room.

"You ungrateful, unfaithful, whore of a wench!" The woman thundered - her voice and body filling every corner of the otherwise genteel interiors.

Elizabeth stepped out slowly into view, taking care to kick behind her all lingering parts of her ebony attire.

"Lady Catherine," she curtsied, ironically, as she felt no respect for the woman at all, "may I presume you are here to visit me?"

"You wandering  _bitch_  - first entrapping my nephew, then soiling his bed with the seed of another!" The large lady came upon Elizabeth, her every word thunder, and grabbed Mrs. Darcy by the arm. "If Fitzwilliam had but  _listened_ to me and cast you out the moment he could."

"I do not understand of what you speak," Elizabeth groaned from the pain, though her heart stayed secure.

"Do you expect your dalliances to remain undiscovered? Night after night, you escape your room. Night after night, you meet your shady lovers and cast your worthless self into their arms!"

Elizabeth could not help her sudden intake of breath.

How much had Lady Catherine seen?

"I have eyes even when I sleep," her husband aunt's seethed.

Elizabeth let slip her subtle sigh of relief, despite the death grip on her arm.

"I have dispatched my request for my solicitor. We shall draw up the papers at dawn. Pemberley shall  _never,_ ever see your face again."

"Papers - "

"Do you doubt that my nephew would not divorce you now?"

"Your nephew - Mr. Dar - "

"Who disturbs us so in the middle of the night?" Her husband, as if summoned, barged through the door between her bedroom and his. It surprised Elizabeth that the door had never been locked - nor used over her many months of marriage. Did she even know her own chambers? "Aunt Catherine, 'tis a surprise to see you so late."

Lady Catherine tossed Elizabeth's arm away, and the latter tumbled slightly at the force of the gesture. Her husband was by her side in an instant, supporting her with both his arms. Elizabeth drew comfort from his presence.

"Aunt Catherine, have I angered you?"

"Your worthless bitch of a wife has dishonored your name and our - "

"I beg your pardon, Aunt." Darcy bristled. There was a wonder in his voice, as if he was surprised at his aunt's behavior.

He couldn't truly be - could he?

"I fear such terms may not be appropriate," he spoke on, to Elizabeth's surprise, then he placed a large hand gently against her belly, "to describe the mother of my child."

It was Elizabeth's turn to gasp - though her own shock was wholly overtaken in volume by Lady Catherine's shrieks.

"She has cuckolded you  _entirely_!"

"Aunt Catherine, I fail to understand - "

"A child! A child! How has she come to be with child? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted? An heir conceived outside of wedlock - a natural son of a - "

"I assure you, Aunt Catherine." Darcy had removed his hand from Elizabeth's belly now, though his other arm remained around her. "The child is most definitely my own. There shall be no talks of divorces - nor further agitations for my bride."

Elizabeth stood, transfixed, watching the scene unfold as if in a novel.

Lady Catherine, red in the face, huffed and puffed for many moments more before she finally began her retreat. She did not leave, of course, without saying her own last words. "Just you wait, Fitzwilliam. She would bring shame to you yet."

She slammed the door shut, leaving an apologetic Alice to bow and escape behind. Elizabeth gaped, unseeingly.

It took her a dozen heartbeats to regain her bearings.

"Forgive my intrusion - and tardiness," her husband whispered against her crown.

She turned gingerly in his arms until she faced him. She looked up to his face, reacquainting herself with his peppered face and informal sleeping wear. She had not seen him thus since their ill-fated wedding night.

"Thank you - sir." She had nothing else to say.

"Thank you - for permitting me here."

He bowed chivalrously over her hand, left a kiss upon her knuckles, and slid back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was a nice chapter! I enjoyed writing their interactions at night. She's just always so much more vulnerable somehow when she's with the Avenger. On a sadder note, I will be on the road and unable to post a new chapter of any story next week. Please bear with me. I will try my best to update again soon after that! Thanks for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, folks. This is a long one!

 

It had been nearly a month since her husband's sudden declaration of her fictitious bodily state, and the stares and glares from Lady Catherine had only intensified since then.

"Must you eat so little? You must feed my heir," the woman would declare one day.

"Such appetites shall surely drive Pemberley to bankruptcy," she would declare the very next.

Elizabeth had long accepted that ignoring Lady Catherine's remarks was a much-needed survival skill for her new life. She simply hadn't foreseen having to employ said skill so much more often since Mr. Darcy's strange announcement.

"I hope the weather does not chill," her companion said beside her today, causing Elizabeth to shake herself out of her reverie.

"I - it - " She regarded their misty surroundings. The garden did look pretty shrouded so. Almost involuntarily, Elizabeth felt herself pull the edges of her spencer more tightly around her shoulders. It was no cloak, but it was of much more widely acceptable fashion in the light of day. "The coolness aids in calming the senses."

Her husband chuckled softly beside her.

He seemed to chuckle quite often of late.

She wondered, at times, if he had managed to convince himself of his own fabrication as well.

Surely, he knew that their morning walks - however socially intimate - could not lead to her being with child?

Lady Catherine's accusations a month ago, however unfounded, had led Elizabeth to reexamine her own actions.

She herself harbored no disloyalty to her kindly husband. She would never dream of dishonoring his benevolence by conducting an affair with another man.

But hadn't she - in her weakest moments - asked the Avenger for aid towards doing exactly what Lady Catherine had accused her of wishing to do? Her heart had never strayed - but had it ever been truly her husband's at all?

"You look tired, Mr. Darcy," she attempted to show concern today. The fine lines around and beneath his eyes did appear particularly pronounced these past two mornings. "Has rest been eluding you, sir?"

Again, he chuckled gently.

"I simply have many matters in my mind," he explained without explaining at all.

They approached the bench where they usually rested, and he predictably guided her towards it.

Her body, still aching from the previous night's missions, welcomed the respite.

"May I lend a listening ear - sir?" Elizabeth offered when they took their seats, more determined than ever to be as much of a wife as she could be.

Clearly, he had long rejected her physical comfort. She must acknowledge, however painfully, that he either found her unattractive or simply disliked the acts of the marriage bed. She had heard her uncle's friends, when in their cups, lament loudly of their wives finding marital relations unpleasant. Perhaps Mr. Darcy was a man of similar tastes. Perhaps his previous wife had sated him enough - and he no longer wished to partake of such activities.

And if it was a faithful friend that he needed her to be - a faithful friend was what she pledged to be.

There was simply the one problem about a non-existent child.

"It seems it may be you, Mrs. Darcy, who needs such lending." Her husband took her hand between his and began to stroke it softly.

Elizabeth smiled shyly.

"What worries you, dear?" He pressed.

"I am thankful, most thankful, for your graciousness in shielding me from Lady Catherine's demands," she spoke with a calmness she had never truly possessed in her tumultuous life before Pemberley. Here, at least, she knew her family wanted her - and would not turn her to the streets at a matriarch's whim. "But the cost at which you gave reason for me to stay - I am afraid - "

"Do you fear the truth revealing itself?"

"I - yes, sir." She looked up slowly towards her husband. He carried patience in his eyes, understanding. She felt him squeeze her gloved hand assuringly. "What if I do not show for the coming months?"

"It is unfortunate - but common - for many babes to be lost before their time."

"Would she not question it? Would I not receive censure for failing to care for your heir?"

It was ironic, nearly silly, to be discussing a life that had never existed. Still, it was gravely necessary.

Her husband smiled, and he was very handsome when he did.

A gentle trill ran from Elizabeth's fingers to her shoulder, and another from her waist to her spine, when he pressed a kiss against the back of her hand.

"We shall see what we can do if my aunt dares to rail against my wife again."

There was something in the possessiveness of his tone that reminded Elizabeth of a knight - of a gallant, generous soul hidden behind a stoic helmet, or a visor.

She felt much warmer for their returning walk to the house - and even breakfast did not ruin the calm in her heart.

* * *

"And what of this?" Elizabeth stared helplessly at the piles of clothes strewn all over her dressing room. Pins and needles stuck out from every article - her favorite and least favorite pieces ruined alike. "Alice, did Lady Catherine come again?"

It seemed that the haughty woman had learned to interfere when the true mistress of Pemberley was  _not_ around.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy." Alice began curtsying - sounding near tears - in consecutive apology. "She demanded that your clothes be let out - to make room for the - babe."

A few quick moments of thought had Elizabeth groaning, irritated from the intrusion yet unable to deny the logic of it all.

"She declared she would not have - would not prefer - that Mrs. Darcy spend more money on new clothes when her current ones could so easily be - adjusted," Alice admitted further.

Elizabeth looked sadly at her kindly handmaiden. The bustle around them - a whole dozen servants frantically working to take and fold and gather the garments - had Elizabeth nearly forgetting why she was in this room to begin with.

Apart from Alice, all other souls knew that their mistress had already been outfitted for the night. She would not need her gowns or dressing room for any further purpose once her bed clothes had been duly delivered.

What reason could she outwardly state for having to be here?

"Stop - cease it - all," Elizabeth commanded. The rush around her paused. "You may continue your endeavors tomorrow. I am sure the future Darcy heir ought to be very grateful for your dedication to his, or her, welfare."

The servants took one moment before all bowing in agreement.

The marked raiments returned to their previous locations - upon dressers and over chairs and on the couch. One by one, the girls bowed and begged to be excused.

Then, it was just Elizabeth and Alice.

And the former heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Please forgive me, Mrs. Darcy."

"Of course." Elizabeth rubbed her temple. She ought to dress soon. The moon had already risen. The Avenger would not tarry for the sake of her feminine sensitivities. "You are excused, Alice. I can dress myself tonight."

"The tunic - "

"Yes, I am aware of its location. Thank you - for hiding it all so well."

Alice bowed, her face laden with more guilt than relief still, before removing herself for the night

There were times Elizabeth realized she was more than blessed to have an honorable husband, who chose to seek her hand lest she fall far enough from grace to become a handmaiden to the Lady Catherines of the world.

And yet, her role came with its challenges - and she had no choice but to address them with the man whose name she now shared.

In a few broad strides, Elizabeth stood at the door that kept their rooms adjoined, her hand poised to knock. The candlelight seeping through the edges of the entrance indicated that her husband still lay awake. It surprised her, slightly, that she had never before considered what his evening activities to be.

Both confident and resigned, she knocked.

Beryl barked happily on the other side of the door, but there were other movements that indicated a human being was moving about.

Collecting her courage, Elizabeth knocked once more - only to have her approach muted by Beryl's enthusiastic conversation.

Elizabeth nearly smiled at the silliness of it all.

But he was her husband - was he not? And she was confident he did not keep a mistress. He had barged into her room before, when needed. It would be natural for her to summon herself to his room without announcement as well. After all, they were -

Elizabeth stopped at the sight that greeted her, her heart lodged firmly between her throat.

Beryl, perhaps unaware - or too aware - barked happily towards her, wagging its tail with fervor. A few steps behind the pooch, standing at the foot of the bed, was the back of a man in black - a silhouette far too familiar to be anyone else's.

The Derbyshire Avenger, in the flesh, in her husband's room - worked upon the waistband around his shirt. He adjusted his sleeves, his bare head wholly visible in the candlelight.

"Miles," he said - in a voice that was wholly unmistakable now - though no one else but he and she stood currently in his room, "would it be at all possible to turn - "

He turned around himself, suddenly facing his shock-stilled wife. The face - was Mr. Darcy's. The voice - was his as well. The utter stupefaction in his eyes mirrored to her what must have been upon her own face as well.

Slowly, she tore her eyes from his face to take in the wholly familiar apparel and limbs - the frame and the gait. He stood differently in these clothes - his stance wider, his back straighter. Yet, still, he was who he was - unmistakable in this halfway identity.

Her husband, the one and only Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley - was the Derbyshire Avenger.

Her loud gasp came delayed, as if the truth had only dawned upon her now - and she clamped both her hands over her wide open mouth.

"Elizabeth, Sylvia - I can explain - "

And it was good to know he would not deny it.

She backed away from him - from confusion rather than fear.

"You - I did not expect - I know you - " His hurried words all fell atop each other, with Beryl's enthusiastic chorus adding to the inaudibility of it all.

Then, he was suddenly stern, standing tall in his lofty bedchamber. "Did Lady Catherine come again?"

She met his eyes tentatively, surprised that he had read her so easily.

Then again - had she not been spending nearly her every waking moment in his company all these months - in the gardens, over meals, and in the dead of night?

"Sir, I cannot - "

"Elizabeth - "

"Sir!" She supported herself with both hands, standing only by balancing herself between the sides of the door frame.

"Elizabeth," he begged.

"I - I need to go. Good - goodnight, sir. I must - I have - " What excuse did she truly have? "I have - to sleep."

And she hastened to close the door, to rediscover her feet, and to pull herself together just long enough to straggle and collapse upon her strange, expansive bed.

* * *

Darcy landed on his feet with ease, accustomed to every nook and cranny the roofing and window systems provided in the family wing. The darkness of his clothes caused him to blend in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. It was all supposed to be familiar, effortless.

What proved more difficult was the restraint required to subtly make his way to her bedroom window.

He'd tried for two days now - two whole days devoid of her warmth and smiles.

They would meet at breakfast, acting with every civility as Lady Catherine prattled on about the growing needs of a hungry estate. They would stay at their seats until his aunt deemed herself ready to be carried away on Mr. Crane's scrawny, simpering arm. They even convened for dinner the night before, taking every bite with quiet resolution as the servants bustled about.

But she refused to speak with him - and never appeared by his side, early mornings or dark evenings alike.

It had been a lonely two days.

The solitude he had long come to cherish since Anne's death had managed, without his knowledge, to alter in form. What previously comforted him now plagued him. He needed Elizabeth's company - her silliness and cheerfulness and stubbornness.

She had, in her own special way, become a part of his life he hoped to never do without.

The sight that greeted him when he arrived at her window at last caused his aching heart to clench just that much more tightly.

She sat alone in her dressing gown - perched on the edge of her bed. Her face looked pensive and blank all at once, the flickering flames in her fireplace more lively than she. There was no sparkle in her eyes, no litheness in her limbs.

Darcy sighed under his breath, pained that he had caused her such grief.

He'd pondered, repeatedly, in the last forty hours of his life if all things would have been better if he had chosen to reveal his identity to her long ago.

But then, when they'd first acquainted themselves in the dark of the night, she hadn't nurtured any particularly tender feelings towards her husband.

Wouldn't revealing himself to be Fitzwilliam Darcy drive their friendship to the ground far before it even had chance to blossom?

Absent-minded thoughts caused his foot to slip, and Darcy shifted quickly to regain his balance.

"Who goes there?" Elizabeth's voice hit his ears immediately.

He turned to face indoors just as she approached the window.

Their eyes met - his own still shielded by his trusty metal visor.

She took him in wordlessly - and he, having little choice, gave silent thanks that she wasn't shoving him away in anger.

"May I come in?" He asked, many heartbeats later, in his own natural voice.

She seemed to contemplate openly - before nodding and stepping back to let him through.

He'd never entered Pemberley this way before, but he had watched his Sylvia slip back enough times to know exactly which part of the window yielded best.

"Thank you," he muttered when he'd landed on the floor at last.

Elizabeth's eyes were taking him in again when he looked up. She sprinted away quickly, bolted her door, and walked back towards him.

He thanked God for her quick mind and actions.

"I feel the need to apologize, madam - for I know I have offended you," he began when she sat back down on the edge of her bed. The rehearsed words felt foreign on his heavy tongue, but they were all the words he had. "I fear my limited male facilities fail to teach me the exact words or moments or choices that must have upset you the most. I am too humbled of a man, however, to pretend that my seeming duality could not have harmed you in any way."

She did not answer, but she listened - and he was irrevocably thankful that she at least did the latter.

"The mantle of the Avenger - the duty of playing watchman over Lambton - was my father's, and my grandfather's, before it was mine. It had been a duty belonging solely to the men in our family, and it was not until I met you that I had ever considered the possibility of any  _Mrs._ Darcys ever participating in the mission as well." The words came more easily now, more naturally to his lips. He swallowed, nervous still. "Over time, whatever initial surprise or concerns I may have had over your - collaboration in these raids and rescues - have long been laid to rest as my admiration for your skills and kindness grew.

"You are an angel - in the strongest, most sword-wielding way one could be. Whatever wit and tenacity other ladies of your generation waste in ballrooms you choose to employ in helping the weak and the needy. I could not have asked for a better partner - or a better wife."

He felt her eyes flicker to his face before resting back on the floor. The smallest hints of the smallest smile touched the edges of her lips.

"Forgive me for my continuous charade. I should not have harbored my secrets when you so freely shared yours with me. I feared losing you, Elizabeth - and I could not bear the thought of gaining such a charming lady of the day and such a loyal comrade of the night only to lose them in one blow. I feared you disapproved of the Avenger - then I feared you disapproved of Mr. Darcy instead. To learn that you had no regard for both or either would have utterly destroyed me."

She hung her head. He felt that he ought to hang his as well.

Did his fumbling words even help his cause in any way?

What  _did_ he wish to accomplish by his stealthy entrance to her quarters tonight?

"If you must know, Mr. Avenger," she spoke then. Darcy attended to her, all eyes and ears. Slowly, she lifted her eyes until she met his in a steady, knowing gaze. There was no hiding now. She knew full well who he was. "You wouldn't have lost me. You would - I always - I admired you too, sir -  _both_ of you. There was no part of you that offended me by being who you were."

He nodded mutely, unsure of the direction he words had begun to take.

"I am saddened by your lack of trust - by your belief that the truth would have driven me away from my care and compassion for you." Her jaw was set now, her eyes resolute. "If anything, knowing that two men I admire so keenly are one and the same has only strengthened my esteem for you."

Was she truly saying what he hoped she was?

"Apologize if you must, sir - for mistrusting my ability to understand the two sides that comprise you. Do not apologize for being either of those facets - for both deserve the honor and respect they command."

Darcy felt embarrassingly close to crying.

He watched, entranced, as she stood and strode over - and reached up to gently snap his visor away from his face.

It was a strange sensation to have another human being do so to him. His breath shortened until he barely breathed at all.

"You do not have to work alone, sir," she whispered, every word a memory and a hope. "Teach me, again - to work with you."

He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her. He wished to whisk her away to the mountains and never return. He longed to play the part of a true husband, as well as a comrade in arms.

It was all too precarious still - so he smiled, nodded, took her hand, and said, "Let us have you dressed then, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope you found it enjoyable to read too!


	8. Chapter 8

"And is that when you tried to stop?" In the stillness of the night, Elizabeth's voice rang particularly pure and bright. She nibbled on her cookie, his own long gone.

She was the north star his soul had always longed to find - the compass that pointed to all his purposes.

Providence had simply chosen strange means to bring her to him.

Darcy, wearing his visor once more, nodded beside her.

It had been a successful night, by all measures. Together, they had saved the toddling boy from his vicious stepmother. They had cleared one brawl and diverted another. They'd returned to their current spot loaded with triumph.

But, since that night of rebirth three evenings ago - Darcy had found himself wanting more.

"Is it wrong of me to ask?" She sounded almost disappointed at herself.

Darcy shook his head, annoyed at his own neglect.

"No, no - not at all. I meant every word when I said I would tell you all, Sylvia."

His assurance seemed to restore her smile.

It was frustrating for him that she flickered so easily between the intimate and friendly. One moment, she would be pensive and solemn - a lost soul reaching for his. The very next minute, she would be bubbly and oftentimes even silly - a wide-eyed young lady too engrossed in life's adventure to have a single care for her tedious bore of a husband.

Her ability to shift her moods so rapidly only led him to doubt his own resolutions even more.

"I - I did try to stop - after the marriage," he answered her previous question, straightforwardly, not a single secret to hide from her. "I felt it my duty to maintain a life within safe boundaries - for the sake of a new chapter."

Elizabeth nodded, an eager listener.

"In retrospect," he thought aloud now, fueled by his Elizabeth's quiet interest, "Anne did not ever care to govern whatever happened beyond her own comfort. I myself was nearly choked by the boredom of it all."

Elizabeth chuckled. The kinship in her eyes was surprising and very, very welcome.

"Perhaps, in my own mental recesses - I feared Lady Catherine's interference above all?" He leaned closer to his listener, leaving only a few inches between their shoulders. She stayed where she was, eyes bright and eager beneath her disguise.

"And she never did piece it all together?" Elizabeth's tone was gentle now, a sweet and low caress.

"Only you have managed, Mrs. Darcy. You alone have had the perception and serendipity to uncover both sides of one man - and to compel and command both so thoroughly."

She smiled softly at him then, her soft lips beckoning his.

"I suppose I have learned some things from Lady Catherine," she teased.

"Oh?"

"One, for example, being the audacity to barge into your room uninvited."

He could not help smile at her comment. It was gratifying to the utmost to see her own smile brightening further.

Did she know how wholly she had taken him in? Did she know how winsome she was when she met his eyes over breakfast these days - her knowing gaze and secret blinks never failing to take his breath away? Did she know how she looked now - a goddess of the night, the most perfect evening song embodied in the magic of one woman?

"Elizabeth - "

"And why did you return?"

"Return?"

"To being the Avenger."

She had shifted yet again - her mind set upon maintaining their mundane conversation as her body drew him closer and closer in.

Darcy struggled not to sigh.

"The horror of idleness was a contributor, of course." He forced himself to keep her pace - to treasure each vulnerability without demanding more. "Above it all, there was an urgency to the call - a constant tug upon my conscience reminding me that this mission and role extended beyond my self-preservation."

"And that is why you did not cease this time."

"And that is - " He frowned, uncomprehending.

"When  _we_ married," she explained. She did not sound angry. The stillness around them remained as it was. "You did not think any new alterations to your life ought to come in the way of your vocation to shield and protect your people."

And that was the very moment he discovered that, for all this time -  _this_ was the topic in her mind.

When he had narrated all to her, from his grandfather's legacy to the searing loss of his sister, wife, and child - and after she had told him  _her_ all, from a happy childhood to banishment from her fragmented home to their unexpected marriage - how had he never noticed the glaring question that hovered above it all?

"I have never - and will never - find you unworthy of any sacrifice, Elizabeth." He took her hand then, unable to resist any longer, and pressed a kiss above her thumb. "If you believe that I ought to desist from a life of such danger - I shall willingly forsake any - "

"No." Her other hand flew over his lips, silencing him in a motion that was at once gentle and firm. He nearly froze, mesmerized by her touch. "I do not wish it - and I shall  _never_ demand that you forsake your true calling to pander to your wife's feminine whims."

His heart grew double its already inflated size. Could he ever love her more?

He tried to choose his words - tried his very best to express what he felt without ruining the precarious companionship he currently possessed with her.

She, of a much more outspoken nature than he, found the right words first.

"Perhaps you are simply fortunate, sir - that your current wife seems to have no feminine whims of her own."

It was clear now that she was teasing - that she had long thought through their story and chosen happiness as its conclusion. All doubt and hesitation had long been erased from her face. She had seemed happy tonight, flitting and free, because she  _had_ been happy. She had embraced their marriage - in both its day and evening forms - and allowed herself to be fully content in its throes.

It was he who had been left behind, bogged down by the worries he allowed to repress him.

"Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth," he whispered lowly. He felt her lean closer as he drew near. "May I kiss my decidedly unfeminine wife?"

She offered him a small smile that grew with every passing breath. "She has long waited for you to ask."

And so it was that he did not waste time asking again, for his lips found much fonder activities to do instead.

* * *

"Once more? You are insatiable, darling." Her husband kissed her brow as her hands wandered his bare sides. She giggled, heady with joy as she pressed her naked chest against the expanse of his equally unclothed body. The linens offered little by way of modesty - but they truly had no need of that.

They never rose before dawn anymore, not since their first true embrace as husband and wife a fortnight ago. A kiss that had started as coy had gained heat much faster than either of them had seemed capable of anticipating - and it was a wonder they hadn't roused the whole house with their clumsy attempt to fumble back into her chambers that night.

Or, perhaps, they actually  _had_ woken half the house - and they simply had the discretion of Miles and Alice to thank for their privacy in stripping off every ebony item off their bodies then.

"Last night's adventures insufficient, love?" He teased her again - before kissing her so thoroughly that she had little breath left for the rest of the day.

It felt silly now that she had ever doubted her husband's passions in the bedroom.

"It was entirely your fault, you know." It was her turn to toy with him. He raised a single brow - painting a most unfairly appealing image - as he leaned on his side facing her. "Had you not been so heroic saving the kitten - I may still have maintained the decorum of a proper lady."

Her Mr. Darcy laughed, deeply, his kind eyes reflecting her own humor back to her face - for when had she truly ever acted the part of a  _proper_  member of the fairer sex?

"There are worse ways to celebrate, I suppose." He nuzzled her neck, his unshaven jaw providing a decidedly funny tickle against her skin.

Elizabeth smiled with the sheer joy of it all, the pain of a thousand unshed tears forgotten in light of her current overt happiness. How  _had_ she managed to deserve such a man?

Every morning she woke in his arms - be it in his bed or hers - she reveled in the warmth and protectiveness of his touch. The simple euphoria of their private moments carried her easily through her days, despite every barb Lady Catherine aimed to throw her way. And when they parted for those few hours every day - each tending quietly to one's respective roles as master or mistress of Pemberley - she found solace in the knowledge that they still had their evenings to come, when their hearts would beat as one both on their battlefield and in the confines of their beds.

"It feels almost unfair that I get to be here," Elizabeth mused, an hour later, as she idly set about to slip on the clothes they had strewn around the room the night before. "Almost drowning oneself seems a rather unconventional way to snag a husband, no?"

The chuckle she had come to love rose behind her, as her Fitzwilliam's arms snaked around her waist to rock her in a gentle motion from side to side.

"I find there is little about you that warrants the word  _conventional_." He kissed her crown. "But I cannot be gladder than you are as you are."

Elizabeth felt warmth spreading from her heart to her mind to every inch of her body. She yielded blissfully to her husband's swaying, following his lead in their silly private dance.

"Life has cheated you, dear husband. How can a man be married  _twice_  and not have endured a single stifled ballroom dance to earn them?"

"'Tis a pity that you haven't used a single one of your uncle's lovely wares in your marriage mart pursuits."

"As if I would ever have won your heart."

"Ah,  _now_  you speak unfairly, love." He spun her around by surprise. A quick twirl landed her soundly against his chest. She smiled up at him with every fiber of her being. "If anything, it would have been  _I_ and my taciturn nature falling at your feet - begging for your hand in marriage."

The silliness of his presupposition made her laugh - and she was grateful, all over again, that he never held her to the rigorous standards society placed upon ladylike behavior. Where else was she to ever find a man who celebrated her devotion to justice and insistence for adventure the way her dear husband did?

"Groveling does not become you, sir." She pecked him on the lips, her arms slung around his neck. "You could not truly think any woman in her right mind could drive the stately master of Pemberley to his knees?"

"Only the most mesmerizing of them all." He kissed her this time, all love and lips and tenderness. "You shall be the belle of any ball you choose - if you are anywhere as light-footed on the ballroom floor as you are amongst the trees."

"Are you posing me with a dare, dear husband?"

He leaned his head slightly to one side. "And if I were?"

"Then perhaps we ought to settle it."

"And have a ball in your honor? I shall gladly host a hundred this very hour - if just to show the world my incomparable bride."

"A ball for  _us_ , dear." She pulled closer, aligning their hearts and bodies. "Perhaps to celebrate our marriage? We have been rather - remiss in our social duties."

He frowned slightly. "And shall it come at the cost of Pemberley's coffers?"

The slight tremor in his cheek told volumes of his unspoken humor - of the boyish master Beryl must have always adored.

Elizabeth grinned. "Oh, what would Lady Catherine say?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more hurdle to go before a true HEA! I hope you liked the fluff!


	9. Chapter 9

"No!" The finality in Lady Catherine's tone came entirely unexpected, even despite the circumstances.

Elizabeth stilled, her husband's hand still lingering upon her shoulder.

Their quiet displays of affection, nearly always wordless and fleeting, may have intensified today in light of the announcement they had planned to make - but surely none of them could have warranted the great lady's huffing disapproval.

"Aunt Catherine," began her husband.

"It is unseemly for an expectant mother to think of such  _trivial_ things." Lady Catherine preened.

"I - " No, she knew she was not yet increasing - yet surely such a thing would come to pass soon with their common couplings of late. "One need not mention such expectations with the neighbors at large, madam."

"A trifling falsehood it is, then."

"Aunt Catherine!" Darcy raised his voice.

"I have seen how your beggarly bride dines at the table." Lady Catherine shifted as if to hit the very table she had just mentioned. "It is a wonder she grows so little, particularly with your heir assuming residence in her body. Our coffers cannot suffer any further duplicity. Surely, she must be feeding her leech of a family from Pemberley's - "

"Aunt Catherine." Her husband's voice hardened with unusual tension this side of noon. " _I_ am the master of Pemberley, and while I thank you for your kind surveillance of our financial dealings as I mourned Anne's death, I would much prefer to believe that our funds have prospered under your care."

"Prosperity is relative," Lady Catherine huffed. She reached out her right arm, summoning a dutiful Mr. Crane to her side. Why  _did_ a steward affix himself so unabashedly to a mother of a late mistress? "One cannot expect Anne's dowry to last forever,  _Fitzwilliam_ , if you marry every shrew who comes along, throwing herself into your arms as shamelessly as a - "

"Lady Catherine!" It was Elizabeth who stood now, thunderous, unwilling to let her husband be trapped any longer between his former mother and current wife. "My affections for your nephew have nothing to do with his status or wealth."

"But plenty to do with his house, perhaps? Or his flowery words on how easily you outshine my sickly daughter?" Under her opulent sleeves, Lady Catherine's hand shuddered over the steward's. Her knuckles flashed white. His, on the other hand, remained steadfast beneath hers as the rings on his -

Elizabeth's eyes darted sharply towards Lady Catherine's reddened face. Behind the harshness of her stare - there was a flicker - almost of a need to elude, to flee, to fear.

It was the same glint of the eye that the villains of the night often carried.

"Lady Catherine," said Elizabeth, risking the very happiness she now possessed with her every additional word, "is Pemberley struggling? I would not dare to inopportune my husband's fortune upon an event as insipid as a ball."

She felt Darcy's hands tighten around her shoulders. He waited for her move - united in action as they were every night.

Lady Catherine adjusted her frame. Mr. Crane shifted quickly to accommodate her new pose.

"Vast fortunes, you will find,  _Mrs. Darcy_ , do not stay in families who simply  _will_ it to."

"It is a matter of management - and good sense."

"Yes," Lady Catherine agreed, with a slow but haughty look, "It is a good sense that comes with good breeding - and good command of one's possessions."

"It is saved and pruned."

"Yes."

Elizabeth nodded. Her husband waited by her side.

"And if we were to check the books today, then surely we would find a vastly greater fortune than had been previously possessed by - "

"You insolent wretch!" Lady Catherine growled, drawing her weaselly assistant ever closer. "That you would  _dare_ even  _mention_ the  _possibility_ that there - "

"Aunt Catherine." Now, seamlessly, Fitzwilliam intervened. "May I peruse the accounts of  _my_ home?"

The blanched look on Lady Catherine's face - and the cagey one on Mr. Crane's - told enough of what they were about to uncover.

* * *

Right beyond their curtained alcove, soaring music accompanied the chatter of agitated, curious guests. It was not a grand ball - not the greatest ever hosted in Pemberley, by a far mile.

But it was  _their_ ball, hosted with the modest means Lady Catherine's duplicity had left behind - and Darcy was impeccably happy to have it in honor of the brand new chapter Providence had granted to his life, however unassuming this chapter may be in comparison to the legacy of pomp and circumstance his aunt had often seemed so anxious to preserve.

His home was home again - the master of his heart humming with vivaciousness on his arm tonight. He dearly missed his sister, and there were times he mourned the briefness of Anne's and Ellie's lives. Those sources of sadness, however, drove him only to treasure his current bliss that much more.

And, quite frankly, what man would not rejoice after having  _finally_ ousted Lady Catherine from his home?

"Shall we dance a waltz tonight, husband?" Elizabeth whispered - ever frank and teasing despite the solemn elegance of her attire.

She looked beautiful like this - as he had told her a dozen times already. The family jewels glimmered thanks to her lively movements; the fabric of her gown - hand-picked by her aunt and uncle - suited her natural coloring most becomingly. He loved her in her practical morning clothes, prancing about in the garden. He loved her in her evening clothes, glistening under the candlelight. He loved her in her Sylvia garb, efficient and kindhearted and swift. He loved her in the bedroom, be she wearing little or nothing at all.

His chameleon of a wife was all he could ever have asked for - and more.

"Perhaps in our chambers," he whispered back, embracing the slight huskiness of the tone he always used when fleeing from tree to tree as the Avenger.

She shivered and colored - and he knew once more what passions awaited him tonight.

"I suppose we have to open this tiresome ball first." She sighed dramatically, as if she hadn't looked forward to this event at all.

He laughed, for he knew how she and Mrs. Gardiner had pored over each detail of the evening with gusto. It was, after all, the true coming out of Mrs. Darcy - elusive maiden of the lake turned reclusive bride.

Oh what stories the women of town had been telling!

Oh how dearly they must be surprised if informed that they  _had_ been seeing Mrs. Darcy all these months - not as a beacon of social grace, but as a savior in the night.

Darcy kissed his beaming bride in one last stolen moment before they joined the others once more.

Their guests, from all walks of life, welcomed them with gushing thanks and fawning admiration. It was all quite as silly as Darcy had remembered from his younger years.

But, now, he felt lighter, somehow. He was no longer a bachelor to be hunted down by matchmaking mothers. He was no longer a widower expected to display the appropriate amount of sobriety and grief. Now, he was his own man - the tall young master of Pemberley - unencumbered by the hovering presence of a conniving aunt.

Discovering proof that Lady Catherine  _had_ been stealing, repeatedly, from Pemberley had been a sobering moment.

But then came her banishment, sanctioned by Darcy's own uncle - and the everlasting relief of that conclusion had Darcy thanking God for his worthless relative's ever having such audacity and greed.

He would not lose Pemberley, yet - though there were a few smaller properties he would now have to sell or lease.

Thank goodness his wife was not the indulgent sort.

Thank goodness his wife was the sort to find perfect contentment in a plain suit of black clothes, as long as they came with a hefty dose of adventure.

The music cued the start of a new dance set. Darcy stepped towards his wife, hand already extended.

"Milady," he greeted her with a gallant bow.

She laughed. She seemed to be always laughing these days. "Thank you, love, what a wonderful host you make."

* * *

"Then the stab that you made made me - oh, Fitzwilliam, how I worried he would injure you!" She dashed back across his room, still in her ebony garb. Her hands ran all across her husband's neck, shoulders, chest, and arms. The memories of that dangerous sliver of time - as her eyes caught the glint of the highwayman's hidden dagger - caused her throat to constrict and the tightness in her bosom to expand once more. "I cannot bear the thought that you used to undergo so much alone."

Her husband, it seemed, did not worry half as much as she did.

"But I am not alone, am I?" He was panting, clearly worn from their recent adventure, as he lifted her hands to his lips. "You were there beside me - protecting and assisting me. The Avenger's role has never been easier."

"But what when I cannot join you?" She pleaded, rocky on her feet. She had screamed when she became aware of the threat tonight. How she wished she had been near enough to do more.

"Are our endeavors too tiresome for you?" There was genuine worry in his tone, a heartfelt consideration of the possibility that she may yet outgrow the part of his life that she had so repeatedly sworn to love. She felt his hands brush stray hairs away from her cheek.

"I would never tire of them, love." She drew him close in a hug, gratified by his instant response of large, thick arms around her. His hand ran up and down her back in comfort.

It took a few moments to calm both their breathings.

"I only wish I would not have to bear so long of a confinement," she whispered against his cloak.

He continued his soothing motions - before he froze - then pulled back.

"Elizabeth - of what confinement do you speak?"

She fidgeted slightly, knowing she could hide it no longer. "The midwife said today that I have only until the spring to move about freely."

"The midwife - Elizabeth! How long have you - we are - how long have you known!" There was a slight edge of anger in his eyes - mingled with large quantities of wonder and love.

She smiled sheepishly. "I began to miss my courses another month after our ball. It wasn't quite certain yet, at the time. Then I nearly mentioned it to my aunt, and she began to say all sorts of things that I would no longer be permitted to do if I were to become with child - and I feared that you would censure me similarly. Then that was when I waited - "

"Elizabeth Darcy!" Her husband declared - before pulling her close for a passionate embrace. "We are to have a child!"

"Yes, Fitzwilliam." She was pleased at his response, truly. It was a relief he did not -

"And yet, all this time, you have been  _scurrying_ about in the night in this suit of yours - in  _total disregard_ of your safety?" He pulled back just enough to glare at her now.

"I - I have been taking care, love. I haven't climbed any trees since I knew."

"And yet you scale our window every single night."

"Only with you there."

"And your health is entirely in order?"

She nodded adamantly, eager to assure him. "The midwife found nothing wrong at all about us. She assured me I could continue my walks and my - "

She trailed off at her husband's clearly-mistrusting raised brow.

She  _may_ have been overly general regarding what  _sort_  of activity she preferred when she'd discussed her condition with the motherly Lambton resident.

"And when are we to meet our lovely addition to the family?" Fitzwilliam returned to stroking the sides of her face.

Elizabeth smiled. "Around Easter, she said."

"A miracle child of the resurrection," her husband said reverently.

And she remembered once more that he  _had_ a child once - and he  _still_ must be carrying the pain of that loss.

"You would make a wonderful father, Fitzwilliam." She anchored her arms around his neck.

Their ensuing kiss was most welcome and passionate and sweet.

"And you, a most wonderfully unconventional mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We only have one more epilogue to go! And it's a pretty fluffy one, I think. Thanks for being patient with me!


	10. Chapter 10

_**Eight Years Later** _

* * *

"And what did you do with your very silly fingers today?" Avery squealed as Darcy hauled him up to his shoulders. The child, enjoying the height, pulled eagerly at his father's hair. Across the room, Elizabeth giggled. The knowing look in her eyes indicated that she had reserved plenty of strength to guide him through the night toniht with her insight and whispers despite her expanding girth.

Watching his spirited wife reduced to screeches and whimpers giving birth to Elizabeth Anne had been one of the most excruciating experiences in Darcy's young life - and he had sworn he would never require her to produce another heir.

The serenity of the image that had greeted him when he finally calmed himself enough to re-enter the room, however, had made Darcy marvel all over again at the woman he had married.

"Fitzwilliam, I love her - so dearly," Elizabeth had cooed when he'd reached her side and pulled both mother and child into his arms. "She looks like you."

"And you." He'd kissed Elizabeth's brow with every bit of tenderness he'd ever, ever felt.

Whatever he had feared over little Lizzy Anne's health never came to pass, and she had already grown into a healthy, toddling child when her brother came along. The shadows of the past - though not entire gone - gradually loosened their hold upon Darcy's heart.

"George for your father," Elizabeth had answered, when asked for a name for the babe in her arms.

"Edward for your uncle," Darcy had added - and found the reward and joy in his wife's beautiful eyes.

Then came their second son not long after, a surprise most probably caused by the month it had rained so persistently throughout Lambton that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had no choice but to spend their days and evenings indoors. And whatever tension they could not act upon when exposed to nature's elements - they found plenty of freedom to indulge in when secluded in their chambers.

He may also have asked his wife to enchant him as his Sylvia a time or two.

God knew how he shivered whenever she would run her hand up the length of his chest and whisper "my darling Avenger" in his ear.

And as if he had needed any further reminders - she had insisted upon the name for the child currently kicking in his father's arms.

"Avery sounds most reasonable of a namesake, does it not?" Her eyes had twinkled even as she rocked the newborn child against her bosom.

"Avery?"

"Avery William - for both sides of his father's heroism."

He thought it silly to name a child after the Avenger, but what man ever disliked being told he was a hero?

"Mama!" Avery hollered now, anxious to be free from his father's teasing choke hold. George, for all his five years of wisdom, was quick to come to his brother's aid - and rapidly shook Darcy's leg against his dramatic dark curls - as if his father were a tree who would yield its apples to the most persistent aggressor. "Papa, please!"

With his now-youngest having said the required word, Darcy quickly deposited the child on the floor - and the brothers ran away hand in hand, nearly missing Lizzy Anne's precariously-set tea table with their carefree jog.

"Mama!" It was the sister's turn to pout and lament.

She was every bit a little lady now - growing ever prettier in her dresses and stockings. Her great aunt and great uncle did spoil her so.

"Perhaps this one can be a girl, Lizzy Anne," comforted Elizabeth from afar, stroking her belly. " _She_ may enjoy your dolls unequivocally with you."

"And what if it were a boy yet again?" The frustration in their eldest child's voice rang true.

"Well, no one quite ever said a boy shan't drink tea - or a girl not learn the more manly arts of the field."

Darcy shared a secret smile with his wife - and he wondered how this very nursery had been but one of a hundred deserted, depressed, dilapidated rooms a mere ten years ago.

* * *

"Is the sun too warm?" Her attentive husband was quick to adjust her parasol. The midwife had declared this morning, after having delivered all three of her older children, that the latest young Darcy was to arrive any moment now.

Unlike most patients, of course, Elizabeth had been quick to announce that she wanted a picnic  _now_.

She simply must be compensated somehow for all the outdoor beauty she was to miss during her confinement - and God forbid that she would  _choose_ to begin said confinement any earlier than she absolutely had to.

"Careful, George!" Elizabeth called out with perfect projection at her wandering son, an over-eager brother at his heels. "Lizzy Anne, keep them from the banks."

"Mama, water shining," Avery mumbled, stayed by his sister's firm hand around his pudgy wrist.

Elizabeth breathed a slight sigh of relief as she nodded in distant acknowledgement, thankful as ever that her eldest had taken upon so much of her father's good sense.

God knew what sort of ridiculous business all three children would have up their sleeves if they had all taken after her!

"It's but natural for them to be drawn to that lake - don't you think?" Fitzwilliam whispered beside her, a softness to his tone that could not be further away from the raspiness so often carried by the Avenger.

Elizabeth smiled, rather slyly, she had to admit. "I most certainly did not think a body of water could play matchmaker so well."

Beryl, the lone witness of that origin of all events, barked heartily even in her old age. Fitzwilliam patted its head, affection in his eyes.

Noting that all three of their children had their eyes currently fixed on a particularly interesting tree stump, Elizabeth leaned over to steal a kiss. It was a kiss that her handsome husband readily returned.

"Mama!" The warning cry parted them at a rather sloppy moment, and Elizabeth gave thanks for her agility with her parasol, despite her oversized state.

"Yes, child?"

Avery, a stray tear already brimming from his dark blue eyes, rested affectionately on her shoulder when she finally turned to face him.

"George say I won't be big brother."

"Why - "

"Papa say to George your baby is a girl." The sniffing had turned to sobbing now, and Elizabeth alternated her looks among her approaching children with a slight bewilderment.

"Why would your fath - "

"Papa said the baby would be called Sylvia." George stepped up then, in civil explanation. "That is a girl's name, isn't it, Mama?"

Elizabeth shot her husband a stern look - though the mischief in his eyes only led to mirth for both of them.

"A girl will  _still_ make you a big brother, Avery." Lizzy Anne, hovering tall above her siblings, sounded off with her own sage advice.

"George is big brother because of me," the current youngest sobbed on. "Little girl would - "

"A girl would still play and ride and climb trees with you, Avery!" There were days Elizabeth doubted Lizzy Anne had escaped her mother's stubborn streak fully.

Elizabeth bit her lip, finding it increasingly difficult to keep a comforting, straight face.

"Your sister is right, son." Fitzwilliam reached over to soften Avery's death grip on his mother. "No matter if your mother bears a boy or a girl, you will be a big brother - and whoever the little one is - you will all work together to help each other."

A slightly-placated Avery let himself be transferred on to his father's lap. Elizabeth smiled at the image of the older Darcy's dark curls reflected in his son's full head of hair.

Some day, they would tell the children of their parents' unlikely evening activities. Some day, the children would be trained. Some day, the Derbyshire Avenger may grow beyond the limited strength of one person - into the efforts of an entire team.

Some day, she would like to hope, Avery and Sylvia would bear much more significance than merely being the names her children wrote on their cards and letters.

The aches came then, growing in rapid succession. The midwife and all her judgment were quickly summoned to the family wing.

It was with no hidden satisfaction that her husband held her tightly another ten hours later, only to whisper his love, to offer his constant admiration, and to emphasize that he had always known it would be a girl this time.

Even Elizabeth, for all her obstinance, could not refuse him this victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends our unlikely story :) I hope you enjoyed reading it!
> 
> For those who follow my other stories, I will be posting updates to Liam & Liz over the next few weeks, and then I have a new story lined up for a debut soon. It's not a particularly long one, but I hope you'll also enjoy it! Thanks for joining me in reimagining ODC in every variation! :)


End file.
